


The Forgemaster's Last Stand

by Totheark0



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alucard Whump, Angst, Explicit Language, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Multiple, Pre-Slash, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-08-28 22:39:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16731978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Totheark0/pseuds/Totheark0
Summary: Desperate to prove his value to Dracula, Isaac asks for a chance to bring Alucard to heel. With Dracula's son and his two human companions in captivity after a failed siege on the castle, the forgemaster has all the time he needs to accomplish his task.Isaac must find a way to force his master's spoiled child to accept his nature as a creature of the night, and reject the corruption of his human side. He knows the dhampir will be tough to break, but agony and bloodlust are powerful motivators. And Isaac has one or two tricks up his sleeve.





	1. The Belmont Hold

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty, wow I'm sorry for this first chapter containing absolutely zero original dialogue. Things will definitely diverge from canon starting in chapter 2, but this fic will include a lot of introspection and I thought the scenes from the Belmont hold were great source material for that.
> 
> You have been warned.
> 
> Oh and eventual torture. Like a lot of torture, although nothing too gory. Now you've been warned about that too.

The spawn of Dracula was a right fucking ponce, and Trevor Belmont was ready to tell anyone who would listen.

Unfortunately for Trevor, isolated as the three of them currently were, searching the depths of the Belmont hold for clues about the castle’s weakness, the only one he could complain to was Sypha.

And she had made her stance on the issue fairly clear.

_“You are an adult. You do not have to rise to his every barb.”_

As if that wasn't exactly what Alucard wanted. The bastard. He was constantly trying to get a rise out of the hunter, pushing, prodding, mocking, insulting, all with an air of harmless teasing, always poised to effortlessly rise above Trevor's retorts.

It was stupid. Laughable, juvenile, really, all of it. They were about to face down bloody Dracula for Christ's sake. The three of them, together. Petty squabbles between Trevor and the half-breed should be the furthest thoughts from his mind.

But Trevor couldn't fucking read anything in this library that was the pride of the excommunicated kin, its massive dusty collection useless to him without the help of his more literate companions. And he couldn't deny the pride it made him feel as well, truly. Seeing all that his ancestors had achieved in creating such an impressive archive and armory. Perhaps that was why Alucard's jest had provoked such (admittedly childish) animosity from him before he could generate a more effective response.

_“You have the most fascinating family junkyard, Belmont.”_

Sypha was right. The comment meant nothing, but it set Trevor off anyway. Put a gnash in his teeth, a rock in his gut, a rod through his spine, although he had heard much worse. About his family. Heathens, heretics, devils, the people of Wallachia would say. Parroting the words of church. The church his family served faithfully, sacrificing life and limb to protect the very people it turned against them.

Trevor drew a lungful of air through his nose and let it out through his mouth. He pulled his sword from its scabbard for the fifth, tenth, twentieth time, he couldn't be sure. Examined the sharp edges of its blade. Replaced it.

_“You're a cockwart, Alucard.”_

Not his best comeback, he had to admit. But something about the dhampir’s tone, his demeanor, his very _presence_ raised Trevor's hackles like no angry mob of deluded townspeople ever could. The way he could captivate the attention of any mortal without raising his voice above its hauntingly affable, perpetual monotone. How he could dominate a fight against multiple demon adversaries without ever breaking a sweat. When he drew pale, elegant fingers down the edge of an old family mirror and discerned in an instant the extent of its power. How he would make Trevor feel livid, breathless, and like a scolded insolent child all at once, with only the rise of a single golden eyebrow and a few choice words.

The fact that Alucard was a bloodsucker, and the Belmont blood in his own veins demanded he resist any and all feelings of camaraderie. Sentiment. _Friendship_. He couldn't trust any of it, or so he had always been told. Never trust a night creature, lest he wind up ripped apart and six feet under.

The calf muscle on Trevor's left leg threatened to cramp, and he shifted slightly to relieve some pressure on the affected limb, but refused to abandon his cross-legged pose. The stone floor of the hold’s lowest level bit into the bones of his ankles and his arse, the chill from the earth below starting to sap the heat from his body, but he didn't care. Trevor found the position meditative, and he was nothing if not stubborn, and he couldn't fucking _read_ anything here anyway. He saw no better use of his time than to sit here, well away from the haughty, confounding, miserable source of his frustration.

How lucky he was to have Sypha’s presence to calm him. She often made Trevor feel like a scolded child as well, but at least in those cases he knew he probably had it coming. And she knew just when and how to lighten the hunter’s spirits. Saddling him with a ridiculous moniker based on the history of his given name. Sharing his dusty old sheet and not minding that the awful smell came from him and not it. Telling him she felt lonely in the first place. It all reminded him he was human. A member of the human race, no matter how many others besides her turned their backs on him and his entire clan. Exiled them. Burned them. He had a family here, once. A home.

Alucard… He still didn't know what to think about Alucard, even after all they'd been through together so far. The uncertainty was a little unsettling, to say the least.

_“I'm disturbed to find that I had more of a childhood than you did.”_

Trevor resisted the urge to go off in search of something he could use to polish the Morning Star. His fingers twitched, ready to test his newfound weapon on anything of the demonic persuasion.

Would Alucard actually go through with killing his own father? Could they really trust him not to have a change of heart? These were not questions Trevor wanted to be asking himself, but he couldn't help it. Blame it on his upbringing. Still, he thought, this would be a valid concern for anyone in his position, dhampir or no dhampir. Sitting here, alone on the bottom floor of the hold, Trevor thought about these things. Wondered if he could do it, had he been in Alucard's place. Kill his own father to save the rest of humanity from his wrath.

Sypha’s voice echoed in his mind. _“He's certainly half-human. More than half-human. He's a person in his own right.”_

Enough of this, Trevor decided. Sitting here with only his sword and the Morning Star to distract his attention just wasn't working. With a quiet sigh, he rose to his feet, stretching, joints popping here and there as he stood. More weapons, he decided. He would keep searching the trove for more blades to add to his arsenal.

He had just recovered a small wooden box containing three pristine throwing knives from a high shelf of a nearby bookcase when he heard Sypha’s voice rise sharp and clear overhead.

“Trevor!” He hadn't realized before now just how quiet it was down here in the hold, his name on her lips carrying and reverberating through its depths.

“What?”

“I have something!”

Trevor felt a stab of annoyance, like a tiny knife embedded between his temples. “When I say what, that doesn't mean I would like to ask even more questions.” Immediately he regretted speaking this way to Sypha. This was going to be one of those times he had it coming.

Gazing up at her, Trevor knew he was right when the Speaker’s nose wrinkled and her hands formed fists, disapproval and frustration seeping into her tone. “Would you please-” She cut herself off. “You are the most annoying...” he heard her mutter under her breath. “Just stop!” she finally shouted down at him.

Trevor sighed. He knew he could still be a right shit sometimes, although he'd never admit it aloud. Besides, it wasn't Sypha who had put him on edge. His foul mood wasn't _her_ doing. “I'm coming up,” he said, closing the box of knives and setting it on the nearest shelf for his later perusal. He was contrite but not about to show it as he climbed the stairs to the next level up.

Alucard appeared from the stacks above as Sypha launched into the explanation of her discovery and of her people's stories regarding ancient languages. Trevor felt his tension from earlier begin to dissipate as it was slowly replaced by a growing resolve. It was the excitement, the energy in her voice more than her words themselves that told him.

They finally had a fucking edge on Dracula.

There was no time for his mind to wander back to thoughts of their dhampir companion, doubts on whether he would be ready to put an end to his father when the time came. Trevor had no chance to think on these things, or anything else for that matter.

_BOOM._

Dracula's horde was knocking at the door.

_BOOM._

He supposed it was a well-timed distraction.

_BOOM._

Nothing like imminent death when you're trapped in a hole in the ground to set one’s priorities in line.

“Can we get that mirror working?” he asked the others.

 _BOOM._ Back on the lower level, Alucard carried the mirror over and set it in front of them. As if it weighed nothing, Trevor noticed. Fucking ridiculous. He couldn't help his eyes narrowing a bit at the effortless feat of strength, no matter how often he had seen Alucard's power in action. It was just fucking unnatural.

_BOOM._

Now is not the time, he told himself. But damn the half-vampire straight to hell for having such an effect on him. Personal feelings aside, he had to trust Alucard. They all had to trust one another, or they were all dead.

So when the dhampir closed the distance between them and challenged him to prove he was more than just some lucky drunk, Trevor rose to the bait. He was a fucking Belmont, and killing evil beasts was a task he'd never back down from. Even if it meant trusting a half-vampire. The son of Dracula. _A person in his own right_ , she had said.

_BOOM._

After delegating tasks to their small group, rubble falling in jagged pieces around their heads, Trevor swallowed his pride and asked Alucard for suggestions.

“Are you asking my advice?” The challenge was there in the soft tone of that otherworldly voice. Trevor's blood began to simmer. Of all the inopportune moments for Alucard to act like a prick.

_BOOM._

Trust. Right.

“We're working together, Alucard. You're still a bastard, but you're the bastard I chose to fight alongside back in Gresit.” Don't make me regret it, he thought. His anger receded a little as he approached the dhampir, but his voice remained hard and his brow stern. His challenge to Alucard more serious than the petty, prideful one thrown at him. “Do you have a problem with any of that?”

For a moment, Trevor didn't know what to expect. The dhampir kept his visage perfectly impassive except for a slight furrowing of his brow, as if he were trying to search Trevor's face for… something. His intentions, perhaps. The hunter couldn't be sure.

But then his expression changed, opened up. Like he had found what he was looking for. Trevor thought he even glimpsed the hint of a smile. “None at all,” Alucard replied, an uncharacteristic lilt in his voice that sent a strange turbulence rolling through Trevor's chest. This feeling, he would not acknowledge, let alone contemplate. Not even to himself, not now, not ever.

“So what do you suggest?” he asked instead.

Alucard faced the mirror, extending an arm toward it. “Using this to find Dracula's castle. Now.”

_BOOM._

Now it is then, Trevor thought.

The demon fight was indeed a welcome distraction for the hunter. He didn't think about Alucard, or Sypha, or even Dracula when he was in the heat of it. He just fought, and won, and felt with certainty he was doing what he was born to do.

When the final demon faced him down, he enjoyed taunting it, perhaps a bit more than he should have. The first time he had to stop it from attacking Sypha, he cursed himself for getting carried away. He chased after the beast, more determined to kill it than before, if that was even possible.

Maybe he'd allowed himself to become too distracted.

Focus, he told himself. Focus. Keep the demon away from Sypha and Alucard, or they'd never make it out of here. They'd never defeat Dracula.

Not acceptable, Trevor thought as he evaded the beast lunging for his throat. The creature burst straight through the balcony railing, sending wood shrapnel flying as it fell away from Trevor, down to the bottom floor of the hold.

Where Sypha and Alucard worked to ensnare Dracula's castle.

“Shit.” Trevor grabbed the Morning Star from where it had fallen and ran to the balcony’s edge, hoping to God he was fast enough. As the silver whip raced after its descending target, just before the explosion on impact, Trevor caught a fleeting glimpse of Alucard, of his face and his stance. The dhampir knew he had no defense for himself nor Sypha in that moment. It was up to Trevor to protect them both.

The hunter didn't try to suppress his sigh of relief as Sypha and Alucard resumed their efforts, neither of them suffering even a scratch by the time the demon onslaught was over. He hadn't failed their trust in him. Their faith. Or something. Whatever.

Ever the lucky one, Trevor didn't have very long to feel embarrassed over his own bloody sentimentality. Alucard and Sypha met him at the bottom of the staircase that no longer existed, and then it was time to ride a pillar of ice to the surface.

On the way up, he did ponder. He'd been doing a lot of that lately, and found it starting to border on insufferable. Nothing a good strong pint wouldn't fix, but Trevor couldn't see himself getting his hands on any alcohol in the near future. So, he pondered. He thought about Alucard, and Sypha, and what they were all about to face. How they likely wouldn't survive. What his family would think if they could see him now. He hoped they would be proud, although he told himself he didn't care.

He dragged a hand down his scarred face and sighed, his eyes landing on the golden hair and eyes of Dracula's son. It was getting harder to deny that lately, his wandering thoughts seemed to always end up in the same place.

_“His sadness is like an icy well. It's bottomless.”_

Trevor sighed again, earning him a look from Sypha. He had deflected from responding to the statement when she'd made it earlier, instead challenging her assertion that the hunter himself was sad as well. But that didn't explain why her words were returning to him now, unbidden and unwanted. He tried to center his thoughts and focus on the battle ahead, but found he knew woefully little about what to expect inside Dracula's castle. Again, it was the damn uncertainty that would be the end of him. It was why he had carefully constructed thick walls around his mind and heart so he'd never have to _care_. But he did care. Apparently.

He wanted to save Wallachia. He knew it would have made his parents proud. He even cared for the fates of his countrymen, as undeserving as they were of his regard. Even after what had become of house Belmont. 

He cared.

About Sypha. He would die before allowing any harm to come to her. And yes, about Alucard as well, he could finally admit to himself. Adrian Tepes. The spawn of Dracula.

And what would his family have to say about that, had they been here? Would they have shown pity or disgust toward Trevor? Would they insist Alucard be slain the moment they met? He remembered feeling prepared to do just that upon first laying eyes on the dhampir. How would events have unfolded differently, then?

Passing by the banners bearing the Belmont crest, Trevor readied himself for battle. When his eyes fell on Leon’s portrait, his hand moved to rest on the Morning Star of its own volition. Part of him lamented leaving the Belmont hold behind. It was a beautiful, powerful place, the last remaining connection Trevor had to his clan, his ancestors, his father and mother, his sisters.

_“It's like a museum dedicated to the extermination of my people.”_

Trevor grimaced and willed it all out of his mind, forced himself to clear his thoughts. It was nearly time.

They finally reached ground level, and the pillar of ice glided to a stop. Trevor glanced around at a world bathed in red, and Sypha sent the pillar hurtling beyond the treeline to protect the knowledge contained below. He congratulated her on the feat of capturing Dracula's castle, and it certainly was an impressive sight to behold. An understatement really, but his thoughts were already elsewhere.

“Alucard. Are you ready for this?”

“No.” It was not the answer Trevor expected, and he pushed away the flutter of concern that settled low in his belly. Tamped it down, stepped on it, smothered it the best he could. “But let's put an end to this anyway.” Alucard's hand found the hilt of his sword.

Alright then. That would have to be good enough. There was no more time for introspection, thank fucking Christ. He was a vampire hunter, he had come to slay Dracula, and right now, he knew what he had to do. He felt it in his bones, heard it sing through his blood like a powerful elixir as they approached the castle as one. Trevor fell into step with Alucard, taking his place at the dhampir’s side. The feeling, the knowledge, the _certainty_ overcame him, made his palms itch for the weight of his weapons, his heart aching to wield the Morning Star again as soon as possible.

It looked like he was about to get his chance.

This war might kill him, but so be it. He had never feared death, nor man, nor beast. That wasn't about to change here today. He was Trevor fucking Belmont, and he was going to save the bloody world.


	2. His Loyal Servant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... here's some more. This time the dialogue is mostly original. Mostly.
> 
> Isaac is fun to write, but also challenging.

The castle’s engine was destroyed beyond repair, and Dracula's forces had been wiped out by the three invaders. Now it was only a matter of time before the king of vampires himself was face to face with his adversaries.

Isaac knew this. Their chances were not ideal, this he understood. What he could not understand was Dracula's desire to go through it alone.

He clung to his master's arm with one hand and gripped his cloak in the other, regretful to be showing such disrespect but desperate to be heard. To at least have a chance to argue his case.

Making sure to mask any such desperation from his expression, he waited for Dracula to meet his eyes, finding the vampire seemed surprised. Perhaps because he hadn't expected his servant to discover the attempt to exile him to the desert. Or perhaps Dracula was taken aback by Isaac's resistance to his decision. In a way, the forgemaster had surprised himself as well.

But he could not abide his master dying in his stead.

“Isaac.” There was a warning there, an unmistakable hardness in his lord's voice. He had heard this tone several times before, often directed at his vampire generals, but never at Isaac himself.

Until now.

“Forgive me, Master Dracula.” Isaac swallowed, trying to coax some moisture back to his mouth. “It is not my place to challenge your will.”

“On the contrary, Isaac, you just professed to value my will above all else.” His master's eyes were cold, their crimson hue reflecting the firelight from the hearth, irises like the red-tinged moon hanging in the sky over his castle.

“Your will is sacred to me, my lord. But I humbly ask you to hear what I have to say.” Isaac was still held aloft by Dracula's hand on his shoulder. The pain of the vampire’s sharp fingernails embedded in his flesh meant nothing compared to the threat of a trip through the distance mirror.

After a charged moment between them, their gazes locked, Dracula appeared to realize the harsh grip he had on his forgemaster, and he slowly lowered Isaac to the floor. “Very well, but speak quickly. I do believe our enemies are nearly upon us.”

With his feet back on solid ground, Isaac released his master's sleeve and cape. Noting how Dracula's hand still rested on his shoulder, he knew he could easily be tossed through the mirror at any moment.

This was a fate more terrifying than the most painful death. The desert taunted him from the other side. He could feel its oppressive heat, taste the dust and sand at the back of his throat. He could hear its desolation.

He was running out of time.

“You remember what we discussed before. About Alucard.”

Dracula's eyes narrowed slightly. Of course he remembered Isaac's offer from weeks earlier.

The threat of his son’s awakening had become a stark reality when rumors reached the castle. Rumors of a demon hunter and a Speaker magician stirring up trouble in Gresit.

Isaac had started working on the problem as soon as it was brought to their attention. This was why Dracula valued him as his forgemaster and his loyal servant. Why Hector would never be enough on his own. He did not possess Isaac's vision, would never do more than cultivate the nighthorde and tend to his _pets_.

Isaac, on the other hand, made every effort to discern their master's deeper needs and actively sought to fulfill them. It was why he had killed Godbrand without a second thought. His lord need not waste any time or effort on a traitor in their midst.

Dracula's own son, however, might pose more of a problem; Isaac had known this. If anyone could threaten the success of their war efforts, it was Alucard. He had met the dhampir only once, when Dracula's human wife had encouraged her son to join his father in his travels. It was prior to the events that led to her death, when his lord had walked the earth as a man.

Isaac's dislike of the half-vampire had manifested within minutes of their introduction, Alucard making no effort to hide his disdain for the work of a forgemaster. The dhampir’s air of superiority and entitlement did nothing to improve Isaac's opinion of him. But the final straw had been the choice to oppose his father's war. Alucard possessed the nerve to resist Dracula's intent, to doubt the righteousness of his will. He was the worst kind of betrayer. But he was still family to Dracula. Nothing could change that. And so, the forgemaster would do whatever he could to right Alucard's wrongs.

The day Isaac finished his work had dawned cold and overcast, just as he preferred it to be.

The forgemaster closed the lid of the large, ornately carved wooden crate and allowed himself a small, peaceful smile at his own accomplishment. He hoped his work would please his lord, but he felt he should present this special gift to Dracula in private.

Isaac watched the beginning of a rainstorm rolling in as he made his way to the vampire’s study, the crate held securely in his arms.

“I have made something for you,” he said as he arrived in the doorway, waiting for Dracula's invitation to join him.

“Oh?” His master sounded interested but did not turn in his chair, instead raising one hand to wave Isaac into the room. He entered, walking past Dracula to place the crate on the floor between the hearth and the chair. Without uttering another word, he lifted the lid from the box and set it aside. From within he removed two thick rectangular slabs of polished silver, magical runes delicately engraved into the surface of each. He set them down one at a time, leaning them against the side of the box where Dracula could see them.

The first bore two circular voids with a seam running the length of the slab, bisecting both voids with a hinge on one edge and a locking clasp on the other. The second slab was identical to the the first, except there were three holes instead of two, the middle one larger than the others. Isaac knew there was no mistaking these items for what they were.

“Stocks,” Dracula said, blinking a few times before his eyes met Isaac's, his brow slightly furrowed in confusion.

“Yes,” the forgemaster responded. “But not just any stocks.” Isaac knelt and ran his fingers along the runes, the result of nearly a solid week of hard work. “As I am sure you are already aware, my lord, a dhampir possesses abilities that far outstrip those of any human, and yet he is less susceptible to vampiric weaknesses compared to the average vampire.” He fingered the latch of the first slab thoughtfully. “Sunlight, crosses, holy water.” Returning his gaze to his master, he found that Dracula's interest was certainly peaked _now_. He had leaned forward in his chair, his eyes darting between Isaac and the stocks. The creases in his forehead had deepened.

“Isaac, what-” Dracula cut himself off, at an uncharacteristic loss for words.

“Please, Master Dracula, allow me to explain.” The vampire gave a little shake of his head, but sat back in his chair and waited for Isaac to continue.

“Any restraint device designed to contain humans will eventually fail to hold a vampire. Or a dhampir, for that matter.” He turned back to once again appreciate his own craftsmanship. “We already have weapons and restraints magically imbued to specifically target vampires and demons. Hunters have devised and used these for centuries.” Isaac replaced the lid of the crate and sat down on top of it, facing his master. “Just as with crosses and consecrated water, these devices will be less… impactful, when used on a dhampir.”

He met Dracula's gaze and immediately saw the vampire had already worked out where his forgemaster was going with this.

“So, these stocks are different, then?”

“Yes. I have developed a set of runes specifically designed to weaken a dhampir.” Isaac paused, waiting to hear his master's response.

Dracula stared at the stocks for what felt like an incredibly long time. Without lifting his eyes to Isaac, he finally replied, “This _gift_ is obviously meant to contain my son. Why have you done this?”

“Because he is your son. He shares your blood. I believed you would prefer the option of taking him alive.”

Now Dracula did look at him, but said nothing more.

“These fit onto an iron frame,” Isaac continued, gesturing to the slabs. “He could be made to be quite comfortable, or… not, depending on their location on the frame.”

Dracula sighed, resting his head against the back of his chair. “You are quite the clever man, Isaac,” he said, the hint of a weary smile playing across his face. “I never considered bringing Alucard back into the fold against his will, but…” He glanced at Isaac before his sight was drawn back to the smooth silver slabs, his voice once again taking on a hard edge.

“I want my son back.”

That went well, Isaac thought as he returned to his forge carrying the crate, the stocks set neatly inside. Upon his return, he placed the box in front of his forgemaster’s table and just looked at it for a short while.

Then, after ensuring he would not be interrupted, Isaac once again removed the lid and the stocks. After only a second’s hesitation, the false bottom he had installed in the crate was removed as well.

He gazed down upon the box’s hidden contents, cushioned on black velvet at its true bottom. Here were a studded whip and dagger identical to Isaac's own, except these bore the same runes as the silver slabs.

Made especially for use on a dhampir.

After replacing the crate’s contents and tucking it away behind his table, Isaac mused on his decision to not show Dracula these other creations. Some might see it as deception, or a lie of omission, but Isaac knew better. This was no different than his handling of Godbrand. He saw no need to complicate his master's decisions, and he knew Alucard would require more than simple captivity to begin to see reason.

When the time inevitably came, and if they managed to take the dhampir alive, Isaac would handle everything.

For he was nothing if not a loyal servant to his master.

Now, however, Isaac faced the imperative of convincing Dracula to allow him to remain and fight at his side. And he had to do it quickly.

“Why bring this up now, Isaac?” His lord hadn't moved his hand from its place on Isaac's shoulder, and his eyes flitted over to the doorway every few seconds, prepared to be set upon at any moment.

“Because now is the time. They do not stand much of a chance if we fight them together.”

“Isaac…” Dracula started to shake his head, the grip on his forgemaster tightening.

“You said you wanted your son back. This I can give to you, if you only allow me the chance. We shall take all three alive.”

“All three?” Dracula recoiled, finally releasing his hold on Isaac. “I have no intention of letting the humans live,” he said, disgust seeping into his voice. “Why would you suggest this?”

“With respect, my lord, Alucard must be the one to take their lives.” Something flickered in the vampire’s eyes at this statement. Isaac thought it looked a little like paternal pride. Encouraged, he continued, “This shall be the ultimate test of his loyalty. If you allow me access to all three, I will make him come around. I will do this thing for you, Master Dracula, you know I can accomplish it.”

Isaac watched his master's face as his genius mind raced from one possibility to another. He finally seemed to come to a decision, his posture relaxing almost imperceptibly. He made a small sound of approval.

“Very well, Isaac. Very well. You'll have your chance.”

“And you will have your son,” he replied, making no attempt to hide his relief at being allowed to stay and fight.

“Father.”

Master and servant turned as one to face the doorway, where the subject of their discussion had just appeared.

“Son,” Dracula said, taking one half-step forward to put himself between Alucard and the forgemaster. Turning his head slightly to the side, he addressed his servant. “Do not attempt any combat with Alucard. I want you focused on the humans,” he murmured. Isaac nodded his understanding, and Dracula returned his full attention to his son.

“Your war is over,” the dhampir said in the same unaffected tone he had used when Isaac first met him. Suddenly he was very much looking forward to putting this spoiled brat in his place.

Dracula raised one skeptical eyebrow, his blood-red eyes shining with mild amusement. “Because you say so?”

“It ends.” Alucard paused, his eyes gaining a faraway look. “In the name of my mother,” he continued.

Isaac could sense his master's rising anger. “It endures in the name of your mother,” he replied, all hints of his prior mirth erased entirely.

“I told you before, I won't let you do it.” Isaac did not think Alucard could possibly be any more arrogant, or intolerable. “I grieve with you, but I won't let you commit genocide.”

 _Won't let you_ , Isaac thought. As if this pathetic excuse for a night creature could hope to defeat the lord of the night. He felt the unusual urge to scoff and only barely restrained himself.

“You couldn't stop me before,” Dracula pointed out, his face growing as stern as Isaac had ever seen it.

The dhampir’s human allies chose this moment to appear on either side of him, each of their faces an admittedly impressive mask of determination. Let us see how long that confidence lasts, Isaac thought.

“I was alone before,” Alucard said. The humans raised their fighting stances.

“So was I,” Dracula replied. He showed them a humorless smirk, stepping aside to reveal his forgemaster.

Now, finally, Isaac thought. Now we fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this chapter contains a large, totally unmarked, largely unannounced flashback.
> 
> Sorry (not sorry). It was intentional.
> 
> Comments or questions welcome!


	3. Tribulations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. This.
> 
> Now we're really getting into it. I kind of can't believe this came out of me.
> 
> Enjoy!

So much for the Speakers’ prophecy. A hunter, a scholar, a sleeping soldier. Three unlikely allies uniting to save the land. It still sounded a little preposterous, even now.

And hadn't his father always taught him not to trust anything that appeared too good to be true? The irony certainly was not lost on him. But it was becoming more and more difficult to appreciate it.

Alucard struggled with his grip on consciousness after the third time his cranium was unceremoniously smashed into the stone floor of the engine room bridge. Bright lights like fiery explosions burst behind his eyelids, and he noted the familiar taste of blood coating his tongue. It felt like far too long a moment before he realized it was his own.

This is it, he thought. This is where my life ends. He couldn't help but recall the events of just over one year before. The confrontation that left him broken and weak, the first time in his life he became truly acquainted with the nature of pain.

The time Dracula left a permanent message of rebuke in the form of a devastating wound painted across his son’s chest.

Apparently pain and devastation packed a stronger punch the second time around.

“You never learned your lessons right the first time,” he heard Dracula say, as if divining Alucard's very thoughts. And perhaps he had. “You always needed a helping hand,” his father spat down at him.

How unnecessarily personal… and inaccurate, the dhampir thought, vaguely offended. Then an enormous fist collided with his chest, and he felt a sensation akin to free falling before his body met the thick wall of the engine room with impossible force. He went headfirst and on contact went _through_ , mortar and masonry easily giving way in the face of Dracula's raw strength. The dust cloud that followed settled around Alucard like a noxious halo, particulate clinging to his hair and eyelashes. He blinked once, twice, in a valiant attempt to focus his vision on the corridor ceiling.

Where were Sypha and Belmont?

He had glimpsed them briefly somewhere around the castle’s second story servant quarters, locked in fierce combat with several demons of the nighthorde. He had known instantly these were Isaac's doing. The trio had killed every last one prior to reaching his father's study. And yet there they were, causing enough of a diversion that Alucard was fighting Dracula entirely on his own.

Which was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid.

Defeat was proving to be a bitter potion to swallow, and he never had accepted failure gracefully. Time and time again his mother had reminded him it was good to admit his mistakes, and admonished him for the rigid sense of pride he’d inherited from his father. But this was just too much. There were countless lives at stake, and the odds they had overcome thus far… was it truly going to end here, when they were already so close to their goal?

And if his companions were to perish… He couldn't bear to think on it.

Growing up, Alucard hadn't had any friends to speak of. No one came close to knowing him outside of his mother and father. He was too isolated, too strange, trapped between two diametrically opposed natures, and the castle had often moved from place to place. Any children he’d met were fleeting acquaintances at best, and the few who had discovered his heritage abandoned him, fear and prejudice always overriding a child's natural proclivity for acceptance.

But Sypha was different. She’d never doubted his motives, even knowing what he was. At least until he'd threatened to rip out Belmont’s throat. And Belmont… Trevor. His heart gave an unpleasant jolt at the thought of the hunter falling to Isaac’s demons. Alucard knew he’d defend Sypha to the last breath, but if the two of them were overwhelmed…

His imagination taunted him with images of amber locks and Speaker robes caked in blood, cooling and coagulating as the life left her body. Of the hunter’s last gasping breaths, pupils dilating within ocean blue irises, the unseeing stare of the dead.

Thinking of them physically hurt, twisted his gut and tightened his chest far worse than the true bodily wounds he’d sustained at the hands of his father.

They were his last remaining hope for creating a better world, nevermind the fact that he had gotten both of them into this mess in the first place.

At this thought, he forced himself to roll onto his side and got one knee planted underneath him, then two. He rose on legs that quaked with uncontrollable trembling, something he'd never had to experience before in his life. It was alarming to say the least, but he forced himself upright and turned to face his attacker.

Alucard never even saw what hit him, but he did become aware he was back on his knees again. The inside of his head felt like it was under incredible pressure, ready to explode in a shower of gore at any moment. Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed it. Another blow to his temple and he was prone on the floor. He wouldn't be getting back up this time, and he knew it.

A dull ringing grew in his ears as he fought to draw in a full breath, and a tingling numbness crept into his fingertips.

“Son.” Dracula stood over him, a massive hulking silhouette in the dim lighting of the corridor. Fear pooled low in Alucard's belly, a sick, oily sort of nausea that carried hints of shame and anger along with it. His father's imposing frame hadn't caused this feeling in him for a very long time. Not since he was a small child, after the rare occurrence that he did something to disappoint his parents.

His parents. Unbidden moisture pricked his eyes as he was reminded what had become of his family. He had deftly avoided this train of thought for so long. Now he was powerless to resist as it came rushing over him in this moment, his mental defenses crumbling.

He remembered summer evenings in the castle’s kitchen, the three of them together. How his mother used to laugh and tease them as they struggled their way through one of her recipes. She was often rushing in to save the day before the meal was burned beyond recognition. This would earn them a fair amount of good-natured teasing, his mother ruffling his hair and tweaking his father's nose as she chided their culinary mishaps.

He remembered his father facing him across the windswept courtyard, wooden practice swords clashing as he trained his only son in the art of combat. As an instructor his father had been tough but fair, and his mother would always be there to look after any wounds he sustained in his training. There was a significant period of time in his youth when his accelerated healing had not come naturally. It was something he’d had to practice and hone, just like any other skill.

He had a real family, once.They were never perfect, sure, and certainly nothing bordering on _normal_ , but they had been good. Solid. Functional. Or so he’d thought. It was his parents’ love that kept everything together. His father's love for his mother.

In the end, it wasn't enough.

“Father,” he said, and it was a wet, rough, wrong sort of sound. Alucard's eyes widened in fear to hear it emerge from his own throat. His arm twitched weakly as he tried to reach for the hilt of a sword that wasn't there. Coppery warmth flowed forth and leaked in a single rivulet from one corner of his mouth, pooling in his collarbone.

He closed his eyes then, finally, and felt powerless to do anything but brace for the next impact. It felt like giving up, but Alucard was out of options. No hunter nor scholar was coming to save his hide. The reality of his helplessness was a tangible thing, but to face it was a horrible, gut-wrenching ordeal he hadn’t ever prepared himself for. It stung him and smothered him in ways he never imagined it could.

His father was actually about to kill him. Somewhere deep inside he could not accept it, had been in denial until this point, despite all that had happened. Some part of him believed Dracula wouldn't really go through with it, just as he hadn't the year before. Just as Alucard had had doubts about his own resolve, late at night during their travels, when Belmont and Sypha had gone to sleep and left him with only the company of his thoughts.

Family was family. Roots ran deep. Blood was thicker than water. What a load of horseshit.

“Don't worry, Adrian. It will be better this way.” He felt sharp fingernails carding through his hair, one hand coming to cradle his chin. The tender gestures felt like a mockery of the paternal bond they once shared.

With great effort Alucard cracked his eyes open a sliver. Gazing up at his father, he willed his limbs to move, his lips to form words, but he was fading fast. The only sound that emerged from his throat was a choked, stuttering gasp. His body remained motionless. There was nothing he could do.

“One day you will understand,” Dracula said, and Alucard would swear he could hear a hint of sorrow in his father's voice. “This is what you've forced me to do.”

How will I understand if I'm dead?

This was his last thought before Dracula dealt him one final blow to the head, whiting out his vision in a violent eruption of pain and pressure before finally, mercifully, he slipped into unconsciousness.

\---

Waking up again was an incredibly unpleasant, disorienting affair.

The first thing he became aware of was the pounding ache in his skull, followed shortly by the realization that he couldn't move his arms and legs. Sharp points of pressure encircled his neck, wrists, and ankles. His body was held immobilized in a kneeling position, his head forced upward with his hands restrained on either side.

A sudden jolt of panic gripped his chest. He flailed and strained hopelessly against unrelenting metal for a moment before his rational mind could force him to stop. Sparks of terror raced over his skin leaving gooseflesh in their wake. He tried to wrench his eyes open, but they were gummed shut with sticky debris. He squeezed his eyelids together, hard, and after a few attempts managed to pry open first one eye, then the other.

Immediately he noticed the array of iron bars surrounding him on four sides, and his heart plummeted. It wouldn't serve as much of a cage on its own, the bars were spaced too far apart. But the thick sheets of silver alloy at his wrists and ankles were fastened securely to the frame by numerous locking hinges.

So this is what his father had intended.

His mind wrestled with outrage and disbelief at his predicament while his sluggish gaze wandered the room. He took in his surroundings slowly, finding each observation unusually difficult to process.

He was in the middle of some kind of dungeon. A large, dark, windowless place lit only by the torches lining it's edges, plus four more mounted on the corners of the metal frame. These four cast a circle of light around the the dhampir’s iron prison, but much of the room was blanketed in shadow. As his vision grew sharper, Alucard identified two heavy oaken doors, one on the wall to his left and the other to his right.

Even considering the lack of electric lighting, he knew he was still inside Dracula's castle. He could simply feel it, for he had spent much of his life within these walls.

And now he would be a prisoner here.

He was certain this room had not existed before, during his childhood. At least not in its current incarnation. But then, much had changed about the castle since Alucard last resided here. Gone were most of the furnishings and decorations he recalled from his youth. The color scheme was all wrong, drab grays and deep reds replacing the blues and greens his mother had preferred. Entire rooms and corridors seemed to have relocated themselves to serve the needs of Dracula and his forces. Very little was as he remembered, the castle nearly unrecognizable as the home he had known so intimately.

Suddenly he heard it. A whisper of a sound so soft he might have imagined it. His head lifted and his eyes scanned the room for the source of the subtle noise. It sounded like… breathing. He heard it again, and found it originated from a row of cells against the wall opposite him. These were true cages, rods of steel set into skillfully forged base and cover plates. Massive iron stakes secured the base of each cell to the dungeon floor. There were five in all, and each was set an arm’s length apart from the next.

Through the darkness he made out the form of a body lying at the back of the center cell, its chest slowly rising and falling. Straining both eyes and ears, he then noticed the shape of a second person. This one was hunched over in the corner of the next cell over. With effort he could just barely hear a second cadence of breaths, quieter and slower than the first.

It was Sypha and Belmont. It had to be.

Despite the dire nature of their situation, Alucard couldn't help the wave of relief that washed over him. He had believed them both dead, and he was grateful to have his assumptions disproven. Alive. Both of them. It was too daunting to try and contemplate the gravity of his own plight, but at least he could choose to appreciate this silver lining. It even brought a modicum of hope to the dhampir’s thoughts, but he was careful to nurture this feeling sparingly. He could not afford to lose his pragmatism at this stage in the game.

Alucard allowed his head to to fall back against the silver slab with a quiet _thunk_ , letting out a sigh and shifting his weight around as much as he could.

Getting comfortable was a hopeless endeavor, but the position wasn't exactly painful. As a half-vampire, he possessed a higher tolerance for pain and discomfort than the average human. This applied to his temperature resistance as well, but the room bordered on frigid and, he realized, he had been divested of all clothing other than his thin trousers. The cold felt mildly unpleasant now, but he wondered how long it would remain bearable.

Training his eyes downward, he could see his long hair fanned out around him over the slab, and he found the contrast of gold on silver inexplicably annoying. He shifted his knees, the only part of his body he could really move, and his only two points of contact with the gritty dungeon floor.

Biting back any traces of embarrassment at the thought of others seeing him in this position, Alucard cleared his throat.

“Sypha,” he called softly. His voice had an unusual gravelly quality to it, so he cleared his throat again, this time with more vigor. “Sypha. Wake up.” Still nothing. “Belmont,” he tried, raising his volume to be heard across the room.

Finally he heard the hunter’s groan as the shape in the middle cell began to stir. Belmont flopped over onto his back, throwing an arm over his face with a muttered “bloody hell” that in that instant was music to Alucard's ears.

“Belmont, get up.”

“Ugh… what the fuck happened?” Alucard watched as Belmont sat up and pressed a hand to his brow, wincing and cursing under his breath.

“We lost.”

Belmont was at the front of his cell in less than a second. His hands gripped the bars with white knuckles and his eyes roved the dungeon, his expression wild and murderous. He noticed Sypha first, and Alucard saw the line of his shoulders relax a little, his posture becoming less rigid. Still his eyes darted around to assess his surroundings, and when they fell on Alucard he froze.

In any other circumstance he would have found the look on the the other man’s face highly amusing, but Alucard was not feeling particularly mirthful in that moment. Belmont stared, positively dumbfounded, his mouth hanging open as he obviously tried to reconcile what he was seeing. Their gazes met across the room, and for a few tense seconds there was only silence.

“Sypha!” Belmont barked suddenly, his eyes never leaving Alucard's own, not even to glance at the adjacent cell. “Sypha, wake up!”

The Speaker came to with a start, lurching forward onto her hands and knees from her previous crouched position. She gasped and coughed a few times, one hand clutched to her chest as she recovered her breath.

They are both hurt, Alucard thought, bitter remorse settling over him. This was his responsibility, his failure. He could not even tend to their injuries. His mother had taught him many of her methods, but there was no hope of getting close enough to even assess the wounds. It was maddening.

“Trevor.” Sypha’s respirations had normalized and she was looking around her cell in confusion. “Where are we?”

“Don't know. But we have a problem.” Belmont still had not taken his eyes off the dhampir, and Alucard was starting to feel unpleasantly scrutinized under the intensity of his stare.

“What are you- oh.” Sypha moved to the front of her cell and held the bars, mirroring Belmont’s position. “Oh. Alucard.” Her voice hitched on his name, and he could hear her tears even if he couldn't quite see them. “Why have they done this to you?”

He did not have an answer to her question.

“I am alright, Sypha,” he assured her, his urge to provide comfort overcoming his distress for the moment. “Nothing is broken. We need to focus on forming a plan of action before Dracula returns to deal with us.”

Logic, reason, rationality. It would be what saved them from this nightmare, and Alucard clung to this lifeline with every ounce of fortitude he could muster.

Belmont still watched him like a hawk. It made the fine hairs at the nape of his neck stand on end. To have that discerning gaze bore holes right through him, and knowing he would be unable to obscure himself.

“Sypha, can you use ice to crack the floor under us?” the hunter asked, and finally, he looked away from Alucard. “Then we’ll figure out how to help him.”

The dhampir suppressed a tremor that seemed to arise out of nowhere, his muscles tensing under a bout of anxiety, fingers curling and uncurling as he struggled not to pull against his restraints.

He was certain his efforts would be useless. These were not normal stocks, he had known this the moment he awoke to find himself caught in them. They hadn't budged or even rattled when he exerted his full force against them. There was something of magic at play here, and Alucard was convinced he knew who was responsible.

Sypha seemed to recover her determination at Belmont’s words. She assumed her stance, and he observed the telltale focus in her gaze as she curled in the third and fourth fingers of both hands. Extending her arms, Sypha let out a little huff of air through her nose, and…

Nothing happened.

Alucard waited, and still. Nothing. Happened.

“Fuck,” he said, his tone flat but his heart hammering a faster, louder tempo against his ribcage.

The Speaker blinked, mystified. “This cannot be right.”

Belmont whirled on her. “What the hell is going on, Sypha?” His arms were raised in a gesture of frustration, palms held up as he approached her from his side of the space dividing them.

“I’m… I’m not sure,” she stuttered. “None of the elements are responding to my will.” It was apparent from how she said it that this loss of ability was a first-time occurrence for Sypha.

“Oh, brilliant,” Belmont growled through clenched teeth, lashing out at the cell bars with the toe of one booted foot.

“It's an enchantment,” Alucard called to them. “Likely there are runes somewhere on the cell’s outer surface. Perhaps on top. Almost certainly inaccessible to both of you.” He sighed quietly and closed his eyes, trying to focus solely on maintaining his composure.

“How can you be so fucking calm about this, vampire?”

Alucard's eyes flew back open and he regarded Belmont, unable to mask his surprise for a moment or two.

“Trevor! Now is not the time,” Sypha admonished. “Bickering like children is not productive. It will not solve anything.”

He hadn't been _vampire_ since they'd left Gresit.

“And what do you suggest then, Sypha? Because this looks real fucking bleak from where I'm standing.”

“If you think like that, then you will be useless to us, Trevor Belmont. We have to try something.” Alucard saw her hands find her hips, exasperation apparent from her posture.

“And again, I'll take any ideas, but I already know you don't have any.”

“Well you are certainly not helping the cause by gracing us with your horrible attitude!”

Alucard blocked out their words as the argument continued. “Just stop,” he murmured, but neither of them heard him. They were too deeply immersed in being at each other's throats.

None of the three of us has ever coped well with failure, he thought. The idea that this may be the one trait they all had in common managed to bring a fond smile to his face, but it was gone as soon as it appeared.

Alucard focused on the grain and timbre of his companions’ squabbling, but it was not enough to distract him from the growing sense of dread that left him choking, drowning. It was becoming harder to ignore how exposed he felt. Sweat rose in a fine sheen over his pale skin, a physiological response to stress that he was not at all accustomed to. The near complete immobilization was starting to get to him. This loss of control was exponentially worse than when Dracula had knocked him around. This was a diabolical form of restriction, and he would have to tolerate it for some unknown period of time.

He drew in a shaking breath, then another, resolutely determined to stave off the prickling fear that threatened to return and sweep him away. The hard floor bit into his knees, and his bent elbows hung uselessly. This position was terrible, and humiliating, and he wasn't sure how long he could refrain from fighting against the stocks. Fruitless as he logically knew it would be, the rising lump in his throat and the epinephrine surging through his veins demanded his body put up some sort of resistance. He was trying very hard to remain calm, but it was a battle he was sure to inevitably lose.

“Alucard!” they both yelled in unison.

His head snapped up, eyes lighting on the cells before him.

“We're sorry,” Sypha said, and even Belmont appeared vaguely contrite. “We got carried away.” Alucard could see the torchlight reflected in the watery shine of her eyes. He looked away from her and toward Belmont.

“Thought we lost you for a minute there,” he said, and now he was back to staring at Alucard with that unfamiliar weight behind his gaze. It was off-putting in a manner he could not quite name, but it did help him to focus on something other than the looming horror.

“Listen to me, Alucard,” Sypha said, urgency coloring her voice. “We are going to find a way to free you, and then we will get the hell out of this place.”

Alucard opened his mouth to tell her he refused to leave the castle while Dracula still lived, but stopped when he heard something that did not bode well.

“Do you hear that?” he asked instead.

Footsteps. Slow and measured, so quiet at first that only Alucard's heightened senses picked up on the sound. As they drew closer, the tension in his companions’ faces told him they heard it as well. He could not help the way his body tensed all over with roiling anticipation. He reminded himself to maintain control of his faculties, willing his limbs not to wage any futile skirmishes against his bondage.

But his heart was in his throat. He was afraid.

No one spoke as the footsteps came to a stop outside the door to his left. The suspense in the room was palpable, and the seconds seemed to stretch on forever.

The door finally opened with a heavy creak. A torch-bearing figure stepped into the room and closed the door behind himself.

The forgemaster.

Alucard had never thought highly of Isaac. He was raised with his mother's morals, her ethics, and had never been one to appreciate necromancy in any form. That, and the devotion this human showed his father was disconcerting, the adherence to Dracula's will bordering on blind obsession. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised at the forgemaster’s presence, but he had expected a confrontation with the vampire himself, and was left feeling a little unbalanced by the turn of events.

The torch was placed in a stand next to the door, and there it illuminated a mechanical clock with a large face. It was set into the wall high above the torch stand. From Alucard's position he could clearly make out the time as ten minutes to six, if it was even set correctly. He didn't waste any time wondering about its purpose.

“Where is my father?” he asked, keeping his tone cool and level.

“Ah, I see you are awake,” Isaac said as he casually approached the stocks at the dungeon’s center. “Dracula's activities are no longer any of your concern. You will be dealing with me from this point forward.”

Across the room, Belmont rattled the door of his cell. “Hey! Listen up vamp-fucker,” he started, and even in this setting Alucard's eyes threatened to roll right out of his head at Belmont’s immaturity. “If you don't let us out of here I'll make sure to gore you into Dracula's posh carpet you sick twisted piece of shit.”

“Is that a promise?” Isaac asked, barely sparing Belmont a glance as he moved toward a large wooden crate to Alucard's left. The dhampir hadn't noticed it was there until now. He watched carefully as Isaac removed the lid, unable to make out much detail from his peripheral vision.

“Oh, it's a guarantee,” Belmont retorted hotly, and Alucard could tell from the way his fingers flexed that he was yearning for his sword and whip.

Without warning, a hand fisted in Alucard's hair, close to his scalp, and wrenched his head back as far as it would go. He couldn't hold in the gasp of surprise that escaped his lips. With a strength that was really quite impressive for a human, Isaac held his head in place and brought the tip of a large dagger to hover in front of Alucard's face, less than a centimeter from his right eye.

“Oh god,” Alucard said, unthinking, seeing only the sharp glint of cruel steel, unable to process rational thought as he failed to pull in enough air. A buzzing filled his head and his heartbeat pounded in his ears, frenetic and loud.

Stay calm, he told himself, any moisture in his mouth wicking away entirely. Don't move.

“You,” a wicked voice said directly into his left ear. The fingers in his hair tightened and gave his head a little shake for emphasis. “...do not have a god.”

Isaac straightened to address his prisoners across the room, but did not release his hold on the dhampir nor move the dagger away from his eye, much to Alucard's lament. “Belmont and Belnades. I do believe it is time we establish some rules.”

Isaac began to twirl the dagger menacingly, and Alucard swallowed, his eyes clamping shut against his will, no longer able to bear the sight of it.

“You will listen. You will abide my commands. If you speak out of turn, if you disobey me, the dhampir will suffer the consequences. Do you understand?”

Well. He was completely screwed, then. His chances of avoiding bodily harm depended directly on Belmont’s capacity to _follow directions_. This would not end well for him.

At the hunter’s silence the tip of the dagger was pressed into the corner of his eye, and Alucard began to pull frantically against the stocks around his wrists, desperate to make a retreat or push the blade away. It burned fiercely, much worse than it should have at this shallow depth, almost as if it had been dipped in acid, or heated in a fire. He had never felt anything like this in his life. He had no explanation for it, but he needed this dagger out of his eye socket, _now_.

“Belmont!” His choked shout echoed through the dungeon, and he didn't even recognize his own voice, pitched and cracking with terror as it was.

“Yes, we understand!” This was Sypha speaking, and from the sound of it she was overcome with fear as well. Fear for what might happen to her friend.

“I understand,” Belmont growled through clenched teeth. His rage was evident, formidable and poorly-restrained.

“Good,” Isaac said, and finally the dagger was gone and his head was released. Alucard sagged in his bonds and concentrated on regulating his air intake, his mouth open and his chest heaving. He knew he was shaking all over, but he couldn't force himself to stop.

“I would like to explain myself, for what it is worth,” Isaac said, leisurely making his way back to the wooden crate.

It's not worth much, Alucard thought, craning his neck to keep the man in his sights. He blinked a drop or two of blood from his eye, trying not to think about how close he'd come to having it gouged out.

“The son of Dracula has been living a lie,” the forgemaster continued. He reached down to retrieve another item from the box before replacing the lid. “He is not a human, and he never will be. He is a diluted creature of the night, and infinite acts of misguided altruism cannot alter this reality.” Isaac placed the dagger and the second item atop the crate and turned to lean against it, facing Sypha and Belmont. “You may disagree, but your opinions mean nothing. The thickness of your human corruption is such that I can smell it on you from here. It influences him, and it is this influence that I must eradicate.” He pushed himself off the box.

“Be aware that any hope of escape you may be harboring is misplaced.” Isaac walked around to Alucard's front and regarded him thoughtfully. A contemplative smile gradually spread over his face, and Alucard suppressed a shudder at the sight of white teeth glinting in the torchlight. “I developed these runes myself,” he said fondly, extending one hand to trace over the surface of the slab. Alucard flinched on instinct as Isaac's fingers came close to his face.

The forgemaster watched him a moment longer before turning to walk slowly around the frame, moving first to Alucard's right side, then out of view behind him. “They possess a magic that diminishes the power of a dhampir.” Alucard felt a calloused hand trailing down the underside of one bare foot, and he immediately tried to yank his leg forward, hissing angrily at the unwanted contact.

Isaac laughed, and the taunting quality of the sound raised his hackles, his usually pale cheeks burning with mortification. “So sensitive, Alucard. You will make my job too easy.”

“Fuck off,” he breathed, incapable of forming any other response. He knew Isaac was only trying to increase his awareness of his own vulnerability, and damn if it wasn't working.

Ignoring the outburst of vulgarity, Isaac came back to his left side. Having made a full circle around his prisoner, he headed toward his crate once again. He picked up the items he had left there and brought them over to show Alucard. “These creations bear the same runes,” he said, placing them on the slab where the dhampir could see them. His eyes widened as he took in the dagger and belt whip, his gaze drawn to the symbols adorning the hilt of each weapon.

“These tools will hurt you as mine would hurt a human,” Isaac told him, his tone conversational as he plucked up a slender lock of Alucard's splayed tresses. He toyed idly with the end of it before allowing it to fall back onto the slab. “You will feel pain as we do, as you have likely never experienced before.”

His stomach tightening unpleasantly at these words, Alucard looked to his human companions. He kept his expression carefully impassive, but his subconscious mind hoped to find some form of comfort there. Both stood at the front of their respective cells, hands grasping the bars once again. Belmont looked deadly, his gaze riveted to Alucard's face, eyes blazing with impotent fury. Sypha’s expression was unreadable, her brow furrowed, lower lip caught between her teeth.

Isaac grabbed him roughly by the chin and forced his face upward. “Eyes on me,” he said, and his stare was downright dangerous. “Four times daily your body will be purged.” Again he showed Alucard his teeth, but this time it could hardly be called a smile. “At the sixth and ninth hours of the morning, at the noon hour, and at the third hour of the afternoon, every day.” Now, the clock made sense. He was to be made constantly aware of the timeline of his suffering. “This will cleanse you of your corruption in due time, dhampir.” Isaac let go of his prisoner's face and took a step back. He left the whip and dagger where they lay, an awful reminder of what Alucard had to look forward to.

The forgemaster returned to his crate, leaning on it once again to address all three of them. “Alucard will be deprived of blood, and human food for that matter, until he agrees to my terms, and embraces his true nature.” And he'd thought this situation couldn't get any worse. He was already low on energy and would require blood and food if he was to maintain any measure of his strength.

Alucard watched for reactions from Sypha and Belmont. He had eaten very little during their meals on the road, and had tried to be subtle when hunting for a wild animal or two to slate his bloodlust. His dietary needs had always been kept private by necessity. Traveling with two humans, he had felt it prudent to remain inconspicuous. He expected confusion at the concept of his impending starvation, but they both seemed to comprehend what Isaac intended.

“You can't just-” Sypha started to say, but Isaac raised a hand and she silenced herself.

“The wounds inflicted on you by this whip and blade will still heal rapidly, at least compared to a human, but… well, it will take longer than what you are accustomed to,” he explained, his amusement obvious as he returned to stand in front of Alucard. “And, as you starve,” he continued, looking down his nose at his captive. “...they will begin to heal quite slowly, indeed.”

I hate you so very much, Alucard thought.

“Now, any questions?” Isaac asked, clasping his hands behind him and turning to the side to glance between Alucard and the cell bay across the dungeon.

A heavy silence filled the room, extended and uncomfortable, until…

“Yeah, I have a question.” Alucard's eyes found Belmont. His wrath had not abated if his face was anything to go by, but he appeared to be reining it in. Isaac made a gesture with one hand, urging the hunter to continue. Belmont had to visibly swallow a few times, but then he asked, “Why are you doing this?” There was a hint of something else there, some emotion riding underneath his anger that Alucard could not quite give a name to. “You're human. I can't understand it.”

“I am but a loyal servant to my lord,” Isaac responded. His tone seemed to imply this explanation was already as plain as day, but the hard stare he trained on Belmont spoke of a more complex answer. “This dhampir is his son, and therefore belongs at his side. I will do everything in my power to bring him toward enlightenment.” Belmont made a face like he regretted he had even asked and turned to face the back wall, arms crossed over his chest, silently fuming.

“I also have a question,” Alucard said, and Belmont whipped back around to fix him with an incredulous look. Isaac turned as well, and as much as he loathed to draw the forgemaster’s attention to himself, he had to know. “What are these terms you speak of? What do you expect me to do?”

Isaac looked pleased to answer him. “It is simple, Alucard. You will end the lives of Belmont and Belnades with your own hands. Only then will I allow you to take your place at Dracula's side.” Images rose in his mind, unsolicited, of his hands in Belmont’s hair, fangs buried deep in his neck as his lifeblood drained away. Of Sypha, gasping and retching as he ripped out lengths of her intestine.

He clenched his hands into fists and inhaled sharply through his nose.

“That is never going to happen, Isaac,” he told him, confident and unblinking, meeting him eye to eye, and needing in that moment for this man to understand. This was an act he would sooner die than commit.

“Then let us begin,” Isaac said, his eyes cold as he picked up the whip and moved to stand behind him. “If you protest, this will only be worse for him,” he warned the humans, and then he brought the whip down full-force across Alucard's upper back.

It wasn't quite as bad as the dagger, but it was damn close. The sting of the whip knocked the wind right out of him and made every muscle in his abdomen and back spasm uncontrollably.

He told himself he wouldn't cry out, and while he was successful at the whip’s first lashing, he wasn't sure how long he could hold back.

Isaac did not give him time to recover between strikes. Every time Alucard had nearly caught his breath, a new stripe of fire was laid across his flesh. He squirmed and gasped and bit at his lips to stop any sound from escaping. Knowing logically how pointless it was did not stop him from pulling incessantly against the stocks at all five points of contact. His body’s instinct to avoid the onslaught was too powerful to overcome.

Vampire Killer had been nothing compared to this. Was this truly what pain felt like to a human? How could they possibly cope with the magnitude of this sensation? He could not comprehend it.

The first time one of Isaac’s lashings crossed over one he'd made previously, Alucard couldn't suppress the strangled groan that passed through his gritted teeth. The sharp studs dug into already raw and bleeding skin before they were cruelly pulled out again in preparation for the next strike.

He hated that his tormentor stood where he could not see him. It underlined his defenseless position and prevented him from anticipating the next blow. Each lashing was expertly aimed between the bars of his iron prison, and each one landed true.

He had certainly never claimed that Isaac was a man without talent.  

The next lash brought tears to his eyes, and he determinedly blinked them away into nothing, refusing to even entertain the idea of showing this level of weakness.

He had to try and guide his thoughts toward some sort of distraction, or he wouldn't be handling this treatment stoically for very long. Opening his bleary eyes between strikes, he raised his head and looked to the cells across the room. Sypha had turned away, unwilling to watch the whipping unfold, but Belmont stubbornly refused to do so, his eyes glued to Alucard as Isaac continued to flog him.

He wondered what the hunter might be thinking, seeing him in such a state. Perhaps some part of him felt vindicated at watching the dhampir taken down a peg or two. The thought was enough to draw his attention from the next strike of the whip, but it brought with it a different kind of pain. It's not true, he told himself. Belmont might be crude, and an arse, and he made no attempt to conceal his lack of fondness for Alucard, but he was not cruel. Even when it came to the night creatures that died by his hand, he did not derive enjoyment from the suffering of others.

Unlike a certain forgemaster.

By now Alucard had stopped struggling, and hung limply in his bonds, the occasional spatter or drop of blood landing here and there on the floor around him.

He didn't realize it was over until the forgemaster appeared in front of him, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. His mind felt strange, almost in a dreamlike state as Isaac set the whip back on the lid of the crate and turned to face him.

“How did that feel, dhampir?” Isaac asked him, with what sounded like genuine curiosity behind his question.

“Weak,” Alucard forced himself to say with a confidence he didn't feel. He licked his lips, only now realizing he'd torn and bloodied them with his teeth.

Isaac's grin told him he wasn't buying the resilient act one bit. Well, Alucard had to try. His options for saving face were currently quite limited.

The forgemaster took the dagger in his hand and walked around behind Alucard once more.

Oh, how he hated it when the bastard stood there.

Every muscle tensed as he waited. Sure enough, the point of the blade was brought to his lower back, near his left hip. It rested there for a moment before it dug in deep, dragging through his flesh in a straight vertical line. He slammed his head back against the slab, hard, tensing impossibly tighter, all four limbs tugging against the stocks as he seized up from what amounted to shallow dissection.

It was over as soon as it had started.

“This is a hatch mark. There will be one to mark each purging,” Isaac informed him, and Alucard imagined tearing the forgemaster’s heart out and crushing it in one hand. It was a good feeling, even if it was very fleeting. He considered responding with a snide comment but thought better of it. He didn't know if he could handle round two so soon, if Isaac decided he hadn't done a thorough enough job.

So he said nothing as the dagger was returned to its place next to the whip.

Isaac left the dungeon without a backward glance. “Nine o'clock, Alucard,” he said, and then he was gone.

The quiet in the room was deafening. The tension in the air was so thick they could all taste it.

“Alucard, are you-” Sypha started before he cut her off.

“We are _not_ going to talk about this.”

\---

Alucard passed the rest of that day fitfully. He spent his time trying out different methods of positioning himself more comfortably, with varying degrees of success. Spreading his legs wider took some of the pressure off his knees, and he found that resting his chin forward on the stocks eased some of the ache in his neck.

The second purge came and went, but his wounds had already healed an hour into his three-hour break. He felt the hatch mark disappear as well, and was relieved when Isaac didn't feel the need to add it again before he drew the second one. More of a metaphorical tally then. Or just another excuse to brutalize him.

The second scheduled bout of abuse turned out to be no worse than the first, but it wasn't any better, either. He was perhaps a little more exhausted afterward, this time.

He tried trading barbs and battling wits with Belmont and Sypha during the down time, but his heart was never in it for very long. They were trying to distract him, and he really did appreciate the effort. He played along, pretending he wasn't filled with the heaviest sort of dread. It was his responsibility to keep morale high, or at least as high as was possible. He felt he was also largely responsible for the terrible outcome of their mission, but he wouldn't discuss his guilty conscience with his companions. He’d burdened them more than enough as it was.

Fear concerning his own bloodlust plagued him worse than any other, but this was a topic he _absolutely_ refused to broach with Sypha and Belmont. What would they think if he voiced the question of how long it would take for him to turn feral? Would they start hatching a plan to escape without him? He couldn't exactly hold it against them if they did. It was only a matter of time before he began to gradually transform into a monster. He was a danger and a liability, and he knew this to be an inescapable truth. He wondered if the thought had yet occurred to either of them.

Alucard willed himself to focus his mental energy on the others, their comfort and well-being, talking them through their injuries as best he could. He was powerless to ensure their safety, but at least he could make sure they were looking after themselves. Sypha described the appearance of the nasty gash near Belmont’s left temple, as well as the tapestry of bruises she had sustained to her chest and back. They had no recourse to treat these wounds, but at least neither one seemed to be suffering any infection. Or concussion, in Belmont’s case.

As much as he tried to concentrate on them, they in return made every attempt to talk to him, keep his mind occupied, though Sypha more so than Belmont. The hunter had fallen back into the habit of fixing Alucard with that stare, the one he'd directed at him when they first awoke in this place. He couldn't identify exactly what sort of sentiment was behind it, but honestly wasn't even sure he wanted to know.

Every so often Sypha would try to inquire after Alucard's mental state, his _feelings_ about what he was being forced to endure. He shut her down each time, avoiding the topic with ferocious determination, so resolute in his dismissals that she eventually stopped trying. Angry tears filled her eyes on more than one of these occasions, which never failed to sting him miserably with remorse, but he refused to budge on this point. For his own sanity.

Belmont never brought it up. He seemed to understand Alucard's perspective without any need for explanation.

High noon rolled around soon enough, and his third appointment with the forgemaster unfolded just as the others had. He tried to count the lashings this time, wondering if Isaac was dispensing a specific number, but he barely made it past seven before his thoughts grew too fuzzy and uncoordinated to keep track.

It was during this time that he began to wonder about Dracula. Was his father truly aware of what exactly was happening in his own castle? Did he approve of Isaac's mad endeavor? He found himself yearning for the vampire to make an appearance, if only to accost him for allowing such barbaric treatment of his only son. He needed to know if his father would actually let this continue after witnessing the brutality firsthand.

The forgemaster departed after the third hatch mark was made, as expected. And perhaps consistency counted for something. Strangely enough, it was actually beginning to feel more like routine.

This was one lie Alucard told himself to keep from losing his mind.

His wounds still healed entirely within the hour after they were made. The sensation of his skin knitting together was at least something to occupy his attention.

Afterward, all he had was the waiting.

The clock was torture all on its own. It heightened his anticipation, and by extension his fear. Around half past one in the afternoon, he was disturbed to find himself actually wishing its hands would move faster.

He wanted Isaac's final visit of the day to be over with, looking forward with longing to fifteen impending hours of uninterrupted peace.

Belmont and Sypha told stories, random frivolous anecdotes from their respective histories. Teenage hijinks here and youthful romance there. Nothing remotely related to violence, or demons, or bloodshed. As soon as he realized their intentions, Alucard called them out on their obvious attempt to distract him, insisting it wasn't necessary. They persisted anyway, for which he was endlessly grateful.

It made it easier to avoid thinking about the forgemaster, who was due to return at three o'clock. The man was actually starting to evoke a fear in Alucard like no one individual ever had before. Each time he recalled the image of that knowing smirk or the whip in that sturdy hand, his pulse rate accelerated and perspiration coated his skin.

Isaac was always punctual, down to the minute. Alucard supposed he could respect that quality in a person.

The fourth and final purge of that first day seemed to Alucard like it was happening to someone else. He was entirely disconnected from his body’s response to pain. He felt it, acknowledged it, but to process it required a certain level of awareness, and he was too strung out and exhausted. He knew he was panting and cringing as the blows fell over him, but really he was floating somewhere above his own head, the sensations far away like those from a distant memory.

Isaac left with a parting, “I will see you in the morning,” but to Alucard, tomorrow was another lifetime.

That evening, Sypha and Belmont began plotting their escape. He was loosely aware that their plans revolved around locating the runes restraining the Speaker’s magic, and he tried to participate, truly he did. But he couldn't seem to concentrate on any of it. His companions told him it was alright, that they would handle it themselves.

Alucard felt like the epitome of pathetic.

He found himself forgetting basic facts. His conscious mind struggled to recall things like where he was, how he had come to be there, and on one occasion even his own name was briefly lost to him. His confusion visibly frightened Sypha, and Belmont reassured her that he would recover, he only needed a bit of rest.

Rest. _Sleep_. He wanted it so badly, but it remained elusive through the evening hours.

He spread his legs a little and tipped his chin forward, vaguely recalling this to be the most comfortable position available to him. The cold had set in again, and though Alucard felt it down to his bones, it simply added to the numbness he already felt. He listened to the low murmur of his companions’ discussion but did not perceive the words themselves. Their voices soothed him amidst his dissociative stupor, and he absently noted the sensation of his latest wounds slowly fading from his skin.

After a long while he became aware they were telling stories again. A glance at the clock told him it was approaching midnight, and he interrupted to insist they try and get some sleep. The idea that they would keep themselves awake to spare him lack of company bothered him, even in his present state.

Sypha soon complied, lying down toward the back of her cell, pillowing her head in the hood of her robes. Alucard heard her breaths evening out as she succumbed to exhaustion. He wasn't so sure about Belmont, however. He listened carefully, and although he sensed no movement from the hunter’s cell, he did not hear the telltale respiratory patterns of a sleeping person, either.

As his own eyelids finally grew heavy enough to start pulling him under, he thought he could hear a lone voice quietly begin to sing, a deep, smooth baritone. It carried a gentle, soothing melody, soft and slow like a lullaby.

This sound was all he needed to fall over the edge into blessed, unthinking oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so long, I KNOW. But I refuse to change my chapter count, and this all needed to happen.
> 
> Questions or comments welcome, as always.


	4. Caged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In re-watching Castlevania, I came across this: Season 2, episode 4 (Broken Mast), at 21:10-21:20, is the only time Isaac really talks about Alucard, and he gets all angry handsy with his whip, and I realized it must have been these ten seconds that seeded themselves in my mind until I birthed this monster.
> 
> At the time I was probably too distracted by what happens right after these ten seconds o_o
> 
> I don't even have anything to say about this chapter, except that it totally kicked my ass.
> 
> Enjoy!

Trevor didn’t sleep the first night, anger and frustration fueling his restless mind.

He sang what had been his mother's favorite song, probably four or five times, before he was sure Alucard was really asleep. Then he got up and started pacing.

His cell was ten paces wide and six long.

He paced.

He tested the sturdiness of every steel bar, latching onto each one and using his body weight to exert maximum stress.

Not even a wiggle.

He fiddled with the lock on the iron door, but soon found this to be a complete waste of time. The keyhole was sizeable and its panel made of a hardy brass. Even if Trevor had access to any of his preferred picking tools, they wouldn't do shit against it.

As it was, he’d been stripped of every single weapon, down to the throwing knives hidden in his boots. And there’d been twelve of them, including two tucked away between the sole and heel of each, accessible only through a removable section of hard leather.

He'd actually been a little impressed to learn Dracula's deranged sorcerer lackey had discovered and confiscated every last one. Nobody had ever found the heel knives before. They’d always been his last resort, his backup plan in any tight situation that got out of hand. More than once in his life he'd ended a fight by embedding one of these tiny blades deep into his assailant’s throat. They had helped him avoid death many times over. And now they were gone.

He knew it could have been much worse for him. The dungeon was bitterly cold, and at least he still had all his clothes... The same could not be said for Alucard.

Alucard.

Trevor glanced over to where the dhampir slept and quickly averted his eyes again. When Alucard had been awake, and enduring savage treatment at the forgemaster’s hands, Trevor thought he owed it to him not to look away. If he had to suffer it, Trevor had to watch. It only seemed fair, as sick with festering rage as it had made him feel. But now, dragged unconscious by pain and fatigue, it felt wrong, somehow, for Trevor to watch him. Voyeuristic even, like he was seeing something he shouldn't.

He started pacing again so he wouldn't be tempted. From twelve thirty to one in the morning, he paced. When that became too tired an occupation for even Trevor's stubborn nature to persist, he stopped. Sat against the back wall of the cell and chewed viciously on his thumbnail for a while, eyes glazed over, not focusing on anything in front of him. Got up again.

He carefully climbed the bars up to the top of the cell, leveraging himself with a boot wedged into one metal junction. He brought his eyes close to where the steel rods joined the cover plate and examined the fastenings. The ironwork here was no basic forge welding. The seams were too smooth, too perfect, identical to the base plate seams down below. He and Sypha had already thoroughly inspected those welds earlier. Neither of them had ever seen anything like it before.

Fucking Dracula. _A man of science_ , his son had called him. The vampire’s castle was filled with peculiar mechanisms and inventions Trevor couldn't wrap his head around, far beyond what he'd predicted from his great-grandfather’s descriptions. He had no clue as to the method of fusing two metal pieces so flawlessly, but he knew there was no hope of him reversing the process.

While he was up there, Trevor tried peering through the darkness toward the top of Sypha’s cell, hoping to make out any engraved markings, but it was no use. He couldn't see shit from this distance.

Their escape plan was still in its pitiful infancy. Find runes. Try to destroy runes. Escape with Sypha’s magic. Get Alucard the fuck out of this castle. But it seemed the dhampir was right, as always. Whatever spell restrained her powers, breaking it would not be a simple venture.

He dropped back down to the floor with a frustrated sigh and stood in the center of the cell for a moment.

Pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Stared at the inside of his eyelids for a minute.

Counted his own breaths.

Suddenly recalled the image of Alucard, bound and wretched under the forgemaster’s ministrations.

Struggling to remain silent as his flesh was whipped mercilessly.

Biting his lips bloody in the process.

Never shedding a single tear.

Trevor remembered how the dhampir had pulled against the stocks to absolutely zero avail, in what was obviously an involuntary response to the worst pain he'd ever suffered. He remembered how any objections he'd wanted to raise would only serve to bring about greater harm. How hard it had been to bite his tongue. How by the end of the day's torture, Alucard had seemed totally absent, barely aware of his own surroundings.

How sometimes, while being whipped, Alucard would raise his head and _look_ at him, and how Trevor had always made sure he was looking back.

“No,” he told himself. Thinking about this made his chest tighten painfully and started an insidious agitation ratcheting through his body. Trevor tried to push the images from his mind. He dragged both hands down his face and then brought one to rest over his mouth, the other clutched in a fist over his abdomen as he fought to resist the churning sensation blossoming in his stomach. “Nope.” He shook his head once, breathing harshly through his nose. “Can't do it.”

He lunged toward the chamber pot in the cell's corner, dropping hard to his knees in front of it and proceeding to heave his guts out. His throat burned, eyes watering a bit from the strain. He hadn't eaten since before their siege on the castle, and nothing much came up besides bile and a little blood. It was still fairly revolting to vomit while completely sober. His chronic inebriation had dulled much of the unpleasant experience in the past. Now he was acutely aware of the taste of his own retching, the sour residue on his tongue, how it left the surfaces of his teeth gritty and tender.

At least he'd only used this pot to piss in so far, thank fucking Jesus.

Trevor spat and wiped his mouth on his bracer when he was done, and sat against the rear bars again with a defeated groan. He still felt a little unsteady, but at least the nausea had mostly subsided for now. He was relieved Sypha and Alucard weren't awake to see him lose the dregs of last night's supper.

This is all wrong, Trevor thought.

A human working for the genocidal master of vampires was wrong. The fact that the forgemaster and his undead demons had gotten the best of Trevor and Sypha, wrong. The bastard touching Alucard, the half-vampire twat who had driven Trevor up the wall on countless occasions for being so damn _untouchable_ , that was all sorts of wrong. It brought Trevor's blood to a rolling boil and made his heart scream for ruthless vengeance. He wanted to rip Isaac’s fucking head off.

But he was trapped like a rat in a cage.

The wound on his temple throbbed, and he realized he’d forgotten it was even there. But, well... he had a lot on his mind. He really couldn't bring himself to give a shit about one little scratch. What was one more facial scar for the collection?

It did, however, remind Trevor of Sypha’s injuries, and he slowly, gingerly rolled his head to the left, his eyes landing on her. For a minute he just watched her sleep. She had curled up on her side, burrowed deeply into her robes with only her hair poking out of the hood. Her chest rose and fell, slow and regular, and Trevor found the repetition oddly calming.

But here was yet another failure he was unable to rectify. They had no way of determining if Sypha had sustained any internal damage, invisible to the naked eye. Maybe if Alucard had been able to examine her...

Trevor remembered how he’d once envied the dhampir’s healing abilities, as shamefully petty as it made him feel. He thought about how useful these powers would be for Sypha to possess now, but he also saw the flaw in this line of thinking. As fearful as Trevor was for her safety, it was obvious neither one of them would prefer to trade places with Alucard at the moment.

But fearing for Alucard wasn't as easy for Trevor to grapple with. Especially now, when caring brought far too many risks.

He leaned back, closed his eyes, and tried to sleep for a while. At least, he pretended to try to sleep. Something told him if he allowed himself to lie down he'd be out in a minute, and he couldn't quite shake the feeling that his vigilance was still needed.

Every so often he glanced at the hands on the clock across the room. The night passed slowly, but at the same time it felt far too short.

Trevor knew what morning would bring.

\---

When the shorter hand had nearly reached the five, he became aware of a decision he had to make. The forgemaster would return in just over an hour, and Alucard showed no signs of waking anytime soon.

Finally, for the first time since the dhampir had fallen asleep, Trevor allowed himself to really look.

Alucard seemed incredibly uncomfortable, even in slumber. The line of his back was a hunched, rigid shape. His head was tilted forward and to Trevor's right, eyes obscured in shadow, the left side of his face pillowed on the unyielding slab of metal. His upper body hung suspended by his neck and wrists, his knees splayed, his ivory complexion painted a deep orange in the flickering torchlight. His entire frame appeared crumpled, somehow, like all the life and grace had been drained right out of him.

Waking him was the last thing Trevor wanted to do, but if he did nothing, it would be Isaac’s arrival that greeted Alucard on his return to consciousness. The right choice seemed obvious, but…

He wondered how long he should wait. What was enough time for Alucard to get his bearings, but not too long to be stewing in the purgatory of anticipation?

How unbelievable was it that he, Trevor Belmont, was really in a position to be asking himself these questions? A couple weeks ago his goals in life consisted of beer and some food in his belly, and if he found a roof over his head on any given night, well, that had just been a luxury. Now he was trying to work out how to lessen the traumatic impact of regularly scheduled violence on a terrified and overwrought half-vampire.

What a strange fucking hard left turn his life had taken.

Just after five thirty, Trevor reluctantly rose to his feet, approached the bars at the front of the cell, and rapped on them with his knuckles.

“Alucard.”

The dhampir woke instantly, head jerking up with a panicked gasp so loud that Trevor was shocked when Sypha slept right through it. Alucard began to pull feverishly against the stocks, his sleep-addled psyche not yet caught up with the events of yesterday. He was going through the terror of waking up in this position all over again.

“Alucard,” Trevor called, raising his voice, no longer concerned over whether he might wake Sypha. “Hey!” He wrapped his fingers around the bars. He could see the whites of the dhampir’s eyes from across the dungeon, his gaze darting wildly around the room as his resistance grew even more frenzied. “Alucard! It's five thirty in the morning, you're in Dracula's castle, you're here with Trevor and Sypha, you can't move, and you need to calm down. Now.”

The hint of a sharp edge in Trevor's tone seemed to cut through the haze of alarm and confusion. Alucard's eyes found Trevor and it took a moment, but he finally began to settle. He pulled in careful breaths through his mouth, making an admirable effort to steady himself. Within seconds he was fully still but for the heaving of his bare chest and the intermittent flexion and extension of his fingers.

Trevor had already noticed this little tic developing in Alucard since he'd been confined to the stocks. At one point he wondered if the dhampir was even aware of the habit, but he sure as hell wasn't going to raise the topic for discussion. If it helped him deal with the madness of his situation, Trevor wouldn't question it.

“I woke you because of the time,” he said when Alucard had caught his breath.

Sypha miraculously slumbered on. Good for her, Trevor thought. At least one of us will get a good solid night's rest.

Alucard looked toward the clock and Trevor couldn't help but notice how his whole body seemed to deflate when he read the time. He could just barely make out the soft moan of disbelief as Alucard let his head fall backward to rest on the metal slab.

“Fuck,” he said, and Trevor could hear the despair and exhaustion in the way his typically flat affect quavered audibly.

“I know.”

Alucard raised his head again and stared across the dungeon at him. “Thank you,” he said quietly, their eyes meeting, but Trevor got the odd impression that Alucard wasn't really seeing him. More like looking through him.

Please don't thank me, Trevor thought. You never did before. How the hell am I even supposed to respond to that, honestly?

“Is she still asleep?” Alucard asked, nodding his head toward Sypha and saving Trevor from the expectation of a reply.

“Yes.” She hadn't even stirred.

“She's not been handling this well,” Alucard observed, and Trevor had to agree. It wasn't like her to sleep so deeply, but they both recalled how miserable she'd been yesterday, how she always seemed on the verge of tears, even when trading childhood tales to fill the silence. He could see her weariness now in the way she slept, dead to the world, blind and deaf to everything around her.

“Yeah, well.” He watched Sypha a moment more before returning his full attention to Alucard. “She’s lived a pretty sheltered life until recently. She hasn't witnessed depravity like this.”

“And you have?”

This question caught him off guard, and now it looked like Alucard really did see him. Golden eyes focused raptly on Trevor from across the room. He wanted an answer. “No,” Trevor admitted, and he had to swallow past the resurgence of queasiness before he could continue. “Not… not like this.”

And it was true. Trevor had seen all manner of cruelty and wickedness in his short life. He’d seen groups of grown men outnumber and prey upon unsuspecting innocents. He'd seen women and men alike burned alive at the stake. He’d seen starving children beaten in the streets for asking after a bit of food or coin from a stranger. But he'd never seen someone targeted so cruelly, restrained in one position for an indefinite period of time, faced with the option to either suffer endlessly or to murder his comrades. It was downright fucking heinous.

Trevor's gaze slipped away from Alucard to settle on some distant point on the far wall.

“And you, Belmont. Have you slept at all?”

“No.” He couldn't bring himself to lie to Alucard now, for some reason he didn't want to examine too closely. “Wasn't really tired.” Alucard just stared at him, a familiar knowing look on his face, his eyes clearly telling Trevor he wasn't buying his bullshit. Incredibly, the expression made Trevor feel as awkward and exposed as it always had, even with Alucard trussed up ten meters across the dingy room. “Alright, alright, Jesus.” He rolled his eyes. “I've been… a bit ill.”

“Any nausea?” The bastard saw right through him, then.

“Maybe a little.” It wasn't technically a falsehood.

“You could still be concussed, you utter moron. You should have woken me immediately.” Alucard straightened as best he could, bringing his knees closer together, agitated, his posture drawing taut as if Trevor's stupidity had lit a sudden fire under him. His eyes sparked with that energy they channeled whenever he was about to give a good tongue-lashing. Trevor sensed the lecture coming and interrupted before he could really get going.

“And what exactly could you have done about it if I had? Hmm?” Trevor looked at Alucard with both eyebrows raised in expectant challenge. He knew he shouldn't be rising to the bait but felt unaccountably defensive in the face of concern over his health.

“You are such an unbelievable idiot.”

“You plan on checking my head and stitching my wounds? Please. Not like you don't have enough to worry about in your own fucked up situation.”

Alucard’s eyes narrowed, his lips pursing in anger. If Trevor didn't know better he might have even called it a pout. “I can handle myself. I don't need your pity, _Trevor_ ,” he sneered, spitting his given name like the nastiest of curse words.

My _pity_ , Trevor thought. His hands found his hips of their own accord. Jesus Christ, it always astounded him how childish and petulant the son of Dracula had turned out to be. “Well good, because you don't have any of my pity, _Adrian_.”

Alucard visibly flinched, a small but unmistakable reaction to Trevor's use of the name. He fell silent, breaking their eye contact, his expression taking on a mournful, melancholy appearance. His shoulders slumped and his lower lip became briefly lodged between his incisors.

Well fuck.

Trevor felt like a bit of a cad for letting himself get caught up in the moment. But he kept finding himself overwhelmed by the baffling mix of feelings Alucard seemed to arouse in him. He did know there was a lot of meaning behind the dhampir’s given name, and he definitely hadn't meant to dredge up sensitive memories.

It occurred to him that he'd never addressed Alucard this way, never spoken the name Adrian in his presence. It also occurred to him that perhaps Alucard worried over Trevor and Sypha so he wouldn't have to think about his own misfortune.

He groaned miserably, exasperated, and said, “How is it you can still get me to act like such a little shit, even now?”

This was Trevor's best version of an apology.

Alucard gave a long-suffering sigh, and Trevor got the impression he'd be massaging his temples had he been able to. “There are vision exercises, Belmont, that I can walk you through to determine the extent of damage to that thick skull of yours.”

“Oh,” Trevor said, feeling chagrined and a bit ignorant. Medical practices beyond basic field care put him entirely out of his element. “Well, what could we do if it turns out I've suffered some horrible injury to my brain?”

“Not much, probably. Have you take it easy for a while.” Their eyes met again. “But I've found it helps to know.”

“Helps to know what?” Sypha mumbled, suddenly appearing at the front of her cell. Her arms were wrapped around herself to ward off the chill, and she was blinking the sleep from her eyes.

Now she decides to wake up, Trevor thought.

He didn't interject as Alucard brought her up to speed on Trevor's nighttime illness and the potential diagnostic conclusions it might indicate.

Right when it seemed like Trevor was about to get an earful from Sypha about taking better care of himself, Alucard suddenly stiffened. He lifted his head, left ear cocked up, and for a brief second he was perfectly motionless.

“He's coming.” Alucard’s eyes found Trevor yet again, and by now, it was getting harder to deny the unlikely bond the two were starting to forge under this hardship. The solidarity taking root between them. The strength Alucard appeared to glean from Trevor's presence.

We're here in this together, Trevor thought, and he did his best to convey this message to Alucard purely through his eyes. It didn't seem like something he'd ever bring himself to say aloud.

When Isaac entered the chamber, Trevor knew he was done talking. They really couldn't be pushing the chance of any more blades jammed into somebody's eye, and Trevor knew once he opened his mouth it would be very hard to get him to stop.

“Alucard,” Isaac greeted the dhampir and approached the iron frame, picking up the whip in his dominant hand as he passed by the wooden crate. “It is good to see you right where I left you.”

“Where was I supposed to go?” his prisoner asked, his words dry and dripping with sarcasm. Trevor had to hand it to Alucard, he really was quite skilled at hiding signs of fear, especially in the face of the forgemaster’s total control over his body. Despite everything, Isaac still hadn't managed to touch his mind.

Without any further preamble, Isaac strolled up to the front of the stocks and threaded the fingers of his free hand deep into Alucard's flaxen locks.

Trevor wanted to melt right through the cell bars and throttle the forgemaster where he stood.

What was behind this lunatic’s apparent fascination with touching Alucard's hair? Trevor couldn't explain why it filled him with such righteous fury, except that… well, _no one_ was allowed to touch Alucard's hair. It was his most ethereal feature, and the dhampir’s enemy combatants never got close enough to lay a finger on him. Trevor had seen him in action.

And now this.

Isaac tugged lightly and Alucard lifted his head to meet the forgemaster’s eyes. “And how did you sleep?” Trevor couldn't see the man’s expression from this angle, but the unbridled loathing in Alucard's face told him there was likely some element of taunting derision there.

“ _Fine_ ,” Alucard lied through grinding teeth, his upper lip twitching with the ghost of a sneer, and he broke eye contact with Isaac as if it had suddenly become too intolerable to continue their staring contest.

“Ah ah,” Isaac scolded, his voice growing stern as he gave Alucard’s hair another pull, rougher this time. “You will look at me when I am speaking to you, dhampir.” Alucard reluctantly complied, making an obvious effort to conceal any evidence of his insecurity. “Very good,” Isaac said, bringing their faces closer together. “You are learning to abide me. Perhaps you are already on your way toward deferring to Dracula's wisdom.”

I'm going to fucking eviscerate you, Trevor thought.

Isaac removed his hand and made his way around the frame to stand behind Alucard, who immediately started curling and uncurling his fingers, his breath rate increasing noticeably.

The sound of the first lash repeated against the dungeon walls, and Sypha turned to face the back of her cell, shoulders trembling and face hidden in her hands, tears of empathy and anger leaking around them.

Watching Alucard's subdued reactions, Trevor felt helplessly caught between two equally frustrating, equally unfulfillable urges. There was his desire to pulverize the forgemaster with his bare hands, and this instinct Trevor could understand. He was even willing to nurture it.

It was far less confusing than his need to reach out and touch Alucard. To provide physical comfort somehow. Trevor wasn't accepting of nor familiar with this impulse. He'd never been naturally inclined toward intimate physical contact, and he wasn't typically in a position to offer reassurance, of any kind, to anyone.

But something about witnessing Alucard's torment invoked feelings Trevor couldn't name, couldn't evaluate, except for the fact they made him yearn so badly to close the distance between himself and the dhampir. To hold him close. To run his palms over pale skin with a firm and soothing touch. To trace around the wounds until they vanished completely.

In any other situation, these thoughts would have paralyzed Trevor with sinking dread, but right now he couldn't bring himself to care. Right now he was forced to watch the abuse unfold, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Between each strike of the whip, when the forgemaster would readjust his stance to target a fresh patch of skin, Trevor thought of murdering him. But whenever a lash would fall, it was like Isaac disappeared for an instant, and Trevor saw himself breaking free of the cell, ripping the clasps right off the stocks, and pulling Alucard to safety. He saw himself entwining his fingers with Alucard's slender ones, drawing circles on the back of his hand with one thumb. His saw himself burying his face in Alucard’s long hair and gathering him ever closer, holding him impossibly tighter and just bathing in the sweet relief.

And then Isaac would raise the whip, Alucard's blood arcing in a gruesome spatter from its studs, and Trevor was swept back up in a steaming rage once more. He made no attempt to resist this bizarre pendulum of emotions as it pulled him back and forth between love and hate in time with the rhythm of the day's initial flogging.

When it was over, Trevor appreciated the small dose of solace, for more reasons than one.

Silence reigned after Isaac left, as had become their tradition. They’d learned Alucard would need a few minutes to recover, and even Sypha seemed to accept the futility of trying to speak with him during this period.

Trevor sat back against the rear of the cell as Sypha approached the front of hers. Almost like they were trading shifts during nighttime watch. Always someone keeping a vigil, just in case.

After a few minutes of hanging in the stocks with his eyes closed, unmoving, Alucard lifted his head, looked straight at Trevor, and said, “It wasn't as bad this time.”

You're lying, Trevor thought, and Alucard seemed to perceive the confusion in his silence.

“What I mean is, it helped to know he was coming.”

Now it was Sypha’s turn to appear confused, turning her head to send a questioning glance at Trevor, who now realized what Alucard really meant.

“He's saying he wants us to wake him if he's asleep when it's nearly time.”

“Oh.” Sypha faced the center of the room again. “Alucard, you could have simply asked this of us.”

Alucard shifted around a bit, not meeting Sypha’s eyes with his own. “Yes, but I would not want either of you keeping yourselves awake on my account.”

“Nonsense,” Sypha assured him. “We have nothing better to do than conserve our energy. It will be no trouble at all to make sure one of us is awake. We will be sure you do not oversleep.” She nodded as if to affirm her statement.

Thank God for Sypha, Trevor thought, and it certainly wasn't the first time.

“Yeah, and Sypha’s got sleeping down to a science, so she's operating at maximum efficiency.” Trevor felt the need to add his perspective.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” She faced him with her arms crossed over her chest.

“You were sleeping like a baby this morning,” Alucard told her, his eyes dancing with amusement that was discernible even across the room.

Sypha scoffed. “I will have you both know, I have always been a light sleeper. My grandfather has told me so.”

“Sleeping like a rock,” Trevor insisted.

“Out like a light,” Alucard added.

Dead to the world, Trevor had thought earlier. He allowed himself a bittersweet smile as he listened to Sypha and Alucard continue to indulge one another. She feigned being offended. He pretended to enjoy teasing her. They all ignored the obvious reason behind Sypha’s fatigue. For a while, it almost felt normal.

\---

The topic of Sypha’s grandfather eventually led them back into one of her unfinished stories from the day before, the one about the time the elder had caught her and a few other Speaker children playing pranks on the merchants of Targoviste. Trevor interrupted every once in a while to provide an insight here or a jest there.

During a lull in the conversation, Alucard cleared his throat and spoke up again. “I have another request,” he said.

“Anything,” Sypha replied.

“Would you count them the next time, Belmont?” He paused. “The lashings, I mean.” Trevor looked at him, surprised at the question and at the same time surprised at himself for not having considered it.

“Twenty-six,” Sypha said, and they both turned to stare at her. “It's always twenty-six. I cannot imagine the reason why,” she said, shrugging her shoulders and staring down at her sandals. “I assumed you both already noticed.”

Well that’s fucking weird, Trevor thought, but when he looked back at Alucard, the dhampir was no longer paying any attention to their discussion. He had his left ear angled upward just like earlier, and when he looked back to them again his face was a mask of sheer panic and disbelief.

“He's coming back.” His eyes searched the depths of Trevor's cell. “And he's not alone.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Trevor was at the front bars, hands wrapped tightly around them. He didn't breathe, his eyes trained on the chamber door.

“But it's too soon,” Sypha said, her anxiety obvious in the way her voice rose nearly half an octave.

The clock read a quarter after seven.

Isaac opened the door to the dungeon and left it ajar behind him. One at a time, two demons of the nighthorde followed him in. They were easily twice the height of the forgemaster, and each monster had to bend almost fully in half to make it through the doorway. Trevor recognized them, for he'd fought and defeated both on two separate occasions since entering the castle.

Fucking magicians.

It felt completely surreal to watch them trail behind Isaac on either side, their empty orbits alight with the crimson embers of the bewitched, the glow of the formerly dead. As they all approached Trevor's cell in unison, he was overcome by a rush of adrenaline at the sight of the creatures. He'd cut them down before, but now he was caged and unarmed.

He'd never felt more like prey.

“Extend your hands through the bars,” Isaac commanded when he and Trevor were face to face.

Slowly, Trevor obeyed, not trusting himself to speak but refusing to take his eyes off Isaac’s, except for the odd glance toward his demon attendants. The forgemaster fastened sturdy iron shackles to his wrists, the chain attaching them tethered around one of the cell bars.

Isaac unlocked the cell door with a heavy brass key, and the hair on the back of Trevor's neck stood up as the larger of the night creatures bent low to enter his cell. He watched over his shoulder as the beast walked to the back of the cell and picked up his chamber pot.

“This isn't happening,” Trevor muttered to himself, frankly astonished at the purpose of this visit.

Isaac and the second demon had already moved on to Sypha's cell and she was shackled to a bar as well. Trevor caught her eye as her chamber pot was removed. He looked pointedly at her hands and then urgently back up at her face, silently communicating as best he could. Her cell door was open the same as his, and if there was a possibility the enchantment was disrupted…

Sypha appeared to understand. She concentrated for a moment, extending the index fingers of both hands while Isaac's back was turned. But then she gave a quick, nearly undetectable shake of her head.

Still nothing, then.

Now Isaac's attention was fully attuned to Alucard once again. He kept his eyes trained on the dhampir as he moved off into the shadows near the wall to Trevor's left.

Trevor heard a series of metallic clanking sounds from Isaac’s general direction, but he was more focused on the two demons as they carried the pots through the door on the same side of the room, the one that had remained closed until now. They didn't need a key to open it, Trevor thought, setting the information aside for later.

As the forgemaster emerged from the darkness and advanced on his immobilized captive, Trevor saw what he had in his hands.

It was a metal catch pole with a thick steel collar at one end. The pole itself was an unbelievable length, three meters at least, and thicker than any Trevor had ever seen. But he recognized it nonetheless, and he knew its function.

These were used to restrain dangerous rabid dogs until they could be culled.

The look on Alucard's face spoke of his aversion to having this device brought anywhere near him, but Isaac didn't give him time to react before he was snapping the collar around the dhampir’s neck. Alucard recoiled when the forgemaster dropped the pole, leaving it leveraged over the side of the silver slab and practically choking him with its weight.

“Bastard.” Trevor heard Sypha’s harsh whisper off to his left, and found he couldn't agree more. The word was hardly strong enough to describe this man.

Isaac walked around behind the frame, and again Trevor noticed Alucard's reaction was to quickly and repeatedly make fists with both his hands. After a moment they all heard the sound of the ankle stocks opening, and Alucard promptly drew his legs forward, tucking his feet under himself protectively.

Isaac chuckled in that patronizing manner of his, and for a fraction of a second, Trevor saw only red.

The two demons reentered the dungeon, placing the emptied pots on the ground near the door. The shorter of the two approached the iron frame and leaned over to pick up the end of the catch pole. As it returned to its full height, the pole’s weight was relieved from Alucard's neck, and Trevor heard the dhampir gratefully pull in a greedy, stuttering breath or two.

The forgemaster was now back near Alucard’s head and working on the clasps lining the upper stocks. After a half minute or so, the slab fell free of the frame. It took a hell of a long time, Trevor noted, and Isaac had designed the bloody things. This did not provide any boon to their plans for a quick escape.

In the same second the final clasp was released, Alucard toppled forward onto his face and hands, the unfamiliar weight of the slab dragging him down to the floor. Isaac took the pole from his demon manservant and used it to jerk the unsuspecting prisoner to his feet.

“Where are you taking him?” Sypha demanded to know, and Trevor spun to face her with widened eyes. He was stunned she was the one speaking out, risking further damage to Alucard, when Trevor himself had thus far done such a bang-up job of keeping his mouth shut.

Isaac turned to regard her, and Alucard tried his best to do the same, but his movements were still heavily unbalanced by the mass of silver around his neck and wrists. From what could be seen of his expression, it looked like he was just as amazed by Sypha’s outburst as Trevor was.

“Nature calls, Miss Belnades,” Isaac addressed her directly. The corners of his mouth curled up slightly in a demeaning half-smile. “Surely you are aware that any who consume must also eventually eliminate. Even demons and vampires.” The shadows deepened over his face, the smile turning sinister. “And your insolence should earn the dhampir some form of punishment, but I am feeling relatively magnanimous today. Move.” The forgemaster hiked up the pole and pushed it forward, forcing his prisoner to stumble a bit before he recovered his footing.

Alucard hissed softly and tried to turn around and catch sight of Isaac over either shoulder. Restricted as he was, he only barely managed it. “Are the stocks still necessary, really?” he asked his captor, preventing the discomfort from seeping into his voice. For the most part, anyway. Trevor could certainly understand Alucard's distaste at the prospect of the forgemaster helping him relieve himself. “You already have me collared in steel.”

Isaac smirked and clicked his tongue in disapproval. “And you will transform into a wolf or summon your sword the moment I release you.” He shook his head decisively, once. “No, Alucard, you underestimate my diligence. You will remain in at least one of the silver pieces at all times, until I decide you are ready. Now move.”

He hefted the pole again and led Alucard to the door the demons had used earlier, the dhampir tripping over his feet a few times, still not quite adjusted to the slab’s weight over his shoulders.

After they'd both passed through the door into the next room, the night creatures returned the chamber pots to both cells. “How'd you like cleaning up my piss, you ugly fucking beast?” Trevor taunted the larger demon as it strode past him. Sypha shot him a reproachful look, but he sure as hell couldn't vent his repressed cheek at the forgemaster. He would take what he could get, and he actually felt a little disappointed when the creature ignored him completely.

A few long minutes later, Alucard was forced back into the chamber at the end of the pole, and Isaac appeared after him, closing the door behind them. As he guided his prisoner back toward the center of the room, the smaller demon approached to take the pole from him.

When Alucard was brought near the frame, he suddenly balked and shied away, digging his heels in and trying to avoid the vicinity of his prison with very limited success.

“Come now, Alucard,” Isaac said, moving toward him and grabbing the sides of the slab with both hands. He moved his face closer to the dhampir’s. Alucard shook his head back and forth in denial for a second, stooping to try and make himself smaller, practically cowering as he refused to raise his eyes to meet Isaac’s.

“I _can't_ ,” he insisted, his typically soft voice now coarse and raw from anguish.

Trevor's breath caught in his throat as that same urge to touch slammed back into him, more powerful than it had ever been before. Alucard's eyes found his and the pleading Trevor saw there nearly broke him. He pulled against the shackles in frustration and the sounds they made against the cell bar weren't fulfilling enough so he punched the surrounding bars a few times for good measure.

“Yes, you can,” Isaac said, ignoring Trevor's wordless protest. “And you will.” Another quick shake of his prisoner's head was the only response. “Look at me, Alucard,” Isaac commanded, and after a few moments his order was obeyed. Captor and captive stared at each other for a handful of seconds before some sort of silent understanding passed between them. Alucard shivered and went mostly limp, and Isaac lifted his eyes to the demon wielding the catch pole. He nodded once, and Alucard was forcibly thrust toward the frame.

He stumbled yet again, but he had apparently recovered from his momentary paralysis. Now it seemed to Trevor like Alucard was simply numb, his face lax and clear of any hint of emotion as he was secured to his prison. He was forced to kneel just as before, his ankles pulled back into the lower stocks. The slab restraining his neck and wrists was clasped back into its previous location. The collar was removed, and the night creature carried the pole back to the outskirts of the dungeon. Alucard blinked slowly, dazedly throughout this process, his limbs malleable as Isaac maneuvered him into place.

“There, there,” the forgemaster consoled, his voice amiable, and at first Trevor thought it was purely a jeer, but soon he wasn't so sure. Isaac knelt on the floor in front of his prisoner, lowering himself until they were eye to eye. With a gentle hand, he stroked Alucard's golden waves and tucked a lock behind one slightly pointed ear.

Trevor yanked harder against the shackles, anger bubbling over at what he was seeing, a growl rising from low in his chest.

“If you behave well, perhaps tomorrow I will grant you a new position,” Isaac told his prisoner as if he was promising some kind of legitimate reward.

Alucard did not move. He did not respond. Isaac left him to his own devices.

The forgemaster and his unholy minions moved toward the cell bay once more. After their doors were securely locked by Isaac’s hand, both human prisoners were released from the shackles. First Sypha, then Trevor.

Trevor considered trying to strangle Isaac through the bars and only barely held himself back.

Before he departed, night creatures in tow, Isaac tossed a canteen and a small oil-stained package into each cell. Sypha and Trevor wasted no time, both reaching for the canteens and quenching their parched throats with fresh, cool water.

As he drank, Trevor wondered if Alucard was thirsty yet, and if not, how long it would take for a dhampir to become dehydrated.

Soon Sypha was unwrapping the twine around her parcel, and she opened it to reveal the mouth-watering sight and smell of fresh cooked pork with a few bits of sweet bread. She dug in voraciously, and Trevor eyed the identical parcel lying on the floor in front of him. He stared at it for a minute, contemplative. Every so often he'd look up to check on Alucard, who was gazing at the ceiling of the chamber, his head tipped backward, silent and still.

“I'm not eating if he can't,” Trevor said, determination rooting him to his decision. Feeling even more obstinate than usual, and knowing he would not be moved, he prepared himself for what would inevitably be one of the worst verbal castigations of his entire life.

\---

Sypha chewed his ear off for almost half an hour and didn't show any sign she was prepared to relent. Trevor was equally steadfast, ready to defend his scruples for as long as she continued to challenge him.

In the end, it was Alucard himself who convinced Trevor to eat. He pointed out the logical need for Trevor to maintain his strength, an argument Sypha had already made many times over. But it was the apathy in Alucard's voice, how he didn't try to call Trevor an idiot, how his monotone was even blander than usual, how he seemed almost passive, that eventually convinced Trevor to agree to their demands.

He ate his ration, but he did his best not to enjoy it.

When he was finished, Sypha raised the issue of Trevor's possible head injury, and Alucard guided him through the vision exercises he'd mentioned earlier. Tapping into his medical training appeared to rekindle some energy in Alucard, and Trevor was happy to oblige him if it provided even a scrap of relief. It was ultimately concluded that the concussion was probably minor if it indeed existed at all, and Alucard proceeded to talk them through the treatment of their injuries.

Trevor used a small volume of water to cleanse his head wound under Alucard's direction. Sypha was taught how to evaluate herself for internal bleeding, primarily by watching out for new bruising or discoloration. Alucard also instructed her to lie on her back and breathe deeply if she felt winded at any point going forward.

It didn't even come close to proper medical treatment, but it did seem to help Alucard feel less helpless. No one mentioned it, of course, but the unspoken acknowledgement hung in the companionable atmosphere the three of them shared.

They discussed various topics, and though the time was nearing half past eight, and Trevor saw Alucard periodically glance at the clock, the dhampir acted as though he was hardly impacted by the tension or the fear. It was a stark contrast to his demeanor barely an hour before.

Alucard actively revisited the possibilities for their escape, talking through the grim details with his human companions, something he'd been far too out of sorts to attempt the previous night. Even Sypha was encouraged by his new sense of resolve, despite their dismal odds.

But their planning was stagnated, Isaac having made it quite clear that Alucard's dhampir abilities wouldn't be getting them anywhere.

Alucard questioned if they'd attempted any form of escape when the cell doors had been open. They explained to him how Sypha's magic had still been disabled, and how careful Isaac had been to keep them shackled until the doors were locked again.

Sypha also told Alucard, in no uncertain terms, that even if they could have escaped, they wouldn't have chosen to, not if it meant leaving him behind to face Isaac's wrath. Trevor cringed to think what the forgemaster might do in this situation.

Alucard seemed affected by Sypha’s professed unwillingness to leave without him, Trevor noticed. He became quiet and pensive as soon as she finished her declaration. Trevor tucked this observation away in the back of his mind, thinking that it was something he might bring up with Alucard later that night, if Sypha was the first to sleep again.

They all fell silent with five minutes until the ninth morning hour, none of them keen on the idea of being overheard.

\---

Alucard handled the next appointment with the forgemaster better than he had any of the previous sessions. He even gave Trevor a pained grin around lash number twenty, though it was more like something between a wince and a grimace. Maybe it helped him to know there was a quantifiable limit to his suffering, that the whip would strike him twenty-six times, and not once more.

And yet by the end, apparently out of nowhere, Trevor had just simply had enough. He wasn't sure what exactly pushed him over the edge. The day and a half in captivity. The persistent, maddening desire to protect those he couldn't protect, and destroy those he couldn't destroy. The image of Alucard trying to muster up a smile while his blood was deposited around him in a fresh layer of castoff.

Maybe it wasn't any one thing, but Trevor couldn't fucking stand by and say nothing anymore, not for one minute longer.

When Isaac returned the dagger to the lid of his crate and prepared to leave, Trevor finally spoke up. “Can I say something?” he asked, still hating the respect he had to show this self-righteous piece of human garbage.

“You may,” Isaac replied, his head turning, his eyes narrowing as they fell on Trevor.

“I'll take the noontime lashing.”

“ _Belmont!_ ”

The enraged bellowing of his name, harsh and deep with traces of otherworldly power, filled the vast chamber to its very corners. To hear it was downright unsettling. It made them all jump a little, even the bloody forgemaster.

Trevor's eyes moved to where Alucard was fixing him with a look of pure outrage, his irises flashing red three or four times before they returned to their standard golden hue. Trevor wouldn't have believed it had he not seen it with his own two eyes, fully evident despite the low torchlight.

He'd never been on the receiving end of such powerful anger. Even with Alucard tightly bound across the dungeon from him, it made his heart beat faster, his pulse much louder in his ears.

“If you don't shut your mouth I will thrash you myself,” Alucard threatened, fangs flashing as he showed Trevor his teeth.

“And how is it fair that you get all the attention?” Trevor responded levelly, twice as confident as he truly felt. He considered making a jab about Alucard being an only child but quickly decided against it. Something about the dhampir’s imposing aura told him it was a really bad idea.

“You don't know what you're getting yourself into,” Alucard said, the anger receding just a little. “Do not do this,” he implored, and now he was looking at Trevor with an impossible gamut of emotions, from affection all the way to indignation, but it felt like the connection between them was firmly reestablished in those barest of moments.

“If I may say something as well...” Sypha interjected, sending a pointed glance toward Isaac. The forgemaster rolled his eyes, briefly throwing up one hand as he turned to face the far wall, folding his arms and shaking his head like he simply found their frivolous human antics mildly entertaining. “Trevor's right,” Sypha continued, gesturing to him with one hand. “I will take Alucard's place at three.”

“Absolutely not,” Alucard snapped at her.

“Shut _up_ , Sypha,” Trevor hissed at her, sudden panic rising in his chest, not caring at all that he was a complete fucking hypocrite.

“Oh yes, Belmont, what do you have to say about it now that Sypha's involved?”

“You men are ridiculous,” she stated decisively. “Besides, forgemaster,” she addressed Isaac directly. They all turned toward her, each of them surprised at the strength of her conviction. “Our wounds would hurt Alucard in ways your whip and dagger never could.”

“What the actual _fuck_ , Sypha?”

“Do you see what you've started?”

“Well, she just took it to a whole different level.”

“I only said what you yourself were thinking, Trevor.”

“It's not the same.”

“And how is it different?”

“You're a woman.”

“And you're completely pigheaded.”

“And I don't care.”

“Neither of you are going to take any damage in my stead. You're human, you don't heal as I do, and it's because of me you're even here in the first place,” Alucard said, desperation coloring his voice, his eyes moving between them. He appeared thoroughly overwhelmed at how the situation had gotten away from him.

“Enough,” Isaac said. He didn't raise his voice, but all three prisoners fell silent regardless. “Alucard has the truth of it. Harming either of you is a waste of my time.” He scowled at Trevor and Sypha, his disdain for them obvious. “As much as it would torment Alucard to see you suffer, these are not attachments I intend for him to maintain. You are here purely to serve as stimulation for his bloodlust.”

And you are the lowest sort of person, Trevor thought, imagining how good it would feel to spit right in his smug fucking face.

“You will see,” the forgemaster warned them, and then he turned and left the dungeon, pulling the door shut with a bit more force than usual.

Alucard glared heatedly across the room at the both of them.

“You know, Sypha, I should expect this kind of refractory heroics from Belmont, but I'm honestly surprised at you.”

For a minute Sypha was silent, and she didn't look at either of them. Eventually, she began a slow descent into a crouching position, arms drawn around her legs as she pulled her robes in closer to herself. She turned her head to one side and rested one cheek on her knees, a subtle rigidity in her frame.

“Trevor's right,” she finally repeated, focusing her sight on the door Isaac had departed through, her expression unreadable. “It isn't fair.”

\---

At five minutes until the tenth morning hour, Alucard again alerted them to the sounds of footsteps approaching. The three prisoners prepared themselves. The anticipation was still highly unnerving, but the forgemaster had remained true to his word, only ever harming Alucard according to the predetermined schedule he'd described. No one panicked as they all waited to learn the reason for Isaac's return.

When the door opened, Trevor was surprised to see only the two night creatures enter the room. They left the door open behind them, but Isaac did not follow them in. He was nowhere to be seen.

The larger demon made its way over toward the wall to Trevor's left. It carried a massive wood burning stove, larger than any Trevor had ever seen. The second creature followed behind, its arms full of chopped lumber.

They came upon a spot near the middle of the wall where a stovepipe was suspended from the high ceiling. Trevor watched them as they attached the stove to the pipe and started building a fire. A fair quantity of wood and kindling was loaded into the stove and the rest piled next to it. The smaller creature used the nearest torch to ignite it.

“Huh,” Sypha said. “Well that's… nice. I think.”

“It's not _nice_ ,” Trevor said. “We won't make a very good meal if we freeze to death.”

She didn't even try to reprimand him for his pessimism, and he watched her carefully as she fell silent and just stared deeply into the growing flames.

The demons hovered around the stove until the logs were crackling from the fire. Sypha kept staring, even after the beasts had left the dungeon.

“Sypha,” Trevor addressed her from his resting spot at the back of the cell. She jumped when she heard her name, and for a moment she looked at him like she'd forgotten he was even there.

“Sorry,” she said quietly, distracted. “I was… thinking.”

“Yeah, I could tell.”

“Sorry,” she said again, her voice tinged with a weary sadness.

“Don't be sorry, Sypha.” Now she wouldn't even meet his eyes. “Hey, listen. We're going to figure this out.” Trevor hated to offer empty reassurances but not as much as he hated seeing her like this, so he said what he thought she needed to hear.

She didn't respond, instead turning back to face the fire. No one spoke for a while after that.

\---

Sometime around half past ten, Trevor caught Alucard scrutinizing the crate next to his prison. It only took him a few seconds to realize the dhampir was focused on the whip and dagger lying there within his range of sight.

The haunted look in his eyes was a dead giveaway.

“Alucard,” Trevor called as he stood to move to the front bars. He didn't get a response, verbal or otherwise. “Alucard,” he tried again, this time a bit louder. Still not even a twitch.

“What's going on?” Sypha asked, concern in her voice as she came to the front of her cell to stand at Trevor's left.

“He's staring at the forgemaster’s toys. I can't get his attention.” The enthralled expression on Alucard's face was starting to make Trevor feel inexplicably on edge. The mood swings worried him, but he knew the emotional highs and lows that went along with unremitting pain and trauma. He could barely imagine the extent to which it was affecting Alucard.

“Alucard!” Sypha shouted, at nearly twice Trevor's volume, striking open palms against the cell bars in front of her, and this finally snapped the dhampir out of whatever trance had captivated him. Golden eyes landed on Trevor, but just like earlier that morning, it was as if Alucard didn't really see him. The look on his face was hollow, blank, his mind obviously still elsewhere. “It would…” Sypha paused, choosing her words carefully. “...probably be for the best if you tried not to focus on those.”

“Yes,” Alucard said, sounding like he was still only half there.

“I could tell you a new story, if it would help to take your mind off these things,” Sypha suggested hopefully.

Alucard said nothing for a moment or two, just blinking at her a few times. “I… I'm not sure,” he said, confusion lacing his words.

“Talk to us, Alucard,” Trevor said, no longer able to stop himself. “Tell us what we can do.” He really needed to make that vapid look go away. It grated on him more than he could hope to explain to see Alucard so inert, so listless.

“I apologize, I don't think I…” He trailed off, and for a short time they worried he was done speaking. But then he took a deep breath and looked at Trevor, some clarity returning to his visage. “I'm just so tired,” he admitted quietly, his face starting to crumple for the tiniest fraction of a second before he forced his features slack again. He pulled in another full breath, though it sounded stertorous and uneven.

“Then sleep,” Trevor told him gently.

Alucard hummed softly in response, but kept his sight leveled at the cell bay in the general direction of some random point above Trevor's left shoulder.

After a minute or two of waiting in silence, Sypha retreating to sit back against the bars at the rear of her cell, Trevor finally swallowed his pride.

He began to sing.

He chose his mother's song again, for the simple reason that most of his repertoire consisted of drinking ballads, and this song had successfully lulled Alucard to sleep the night before, anyway. Trevor wasn't one to change tactics he already knew would work.

He felt Sypha's questioning eyes on his back as he held tightly to the cell bars and crooned his heart out. The awkward feeling was there, but it meant very little to Trevor, especially when he saw Alucard's eyelids start to droop.

By the time he'd finished one round of the nostalgic melody, the dhampir was fully asleep, his head down, dark eyelashes fanned out over pale skin. It would be quite a reach to say he looked peaceful, but it was certainly better than seeing him so engrossed by the instruments of his torture.

“You sing beautifully, Trevor.”

He turned to regard Sypha. She hadn't moved from where she was seated, and from Trevor's standpoint she was just a diminutive silhouette in the darkness of the gloomy chamber. Her head turned to the side, he could see her lower lip trembled almost imperceptibly, but her eyes were dry. He could tell from the steady articulation of her words.

But he understood anyway. He knew her well enough by now. She was positively despondent.

With a sharp pain in his chest, he quickly closed the distance between them as best he could, lowering himself to his knees and stretching an arm through the two sets of bars dividing them.

“Sypha,” he entreated. “Come here.”

Before he could formulate another word she was there in front of him, clutching his hand in both of hers, head bowed low, and now the tears were falling in big, fat droplets, rolling down her cheeks to land on the cold metal floor below. “Oh Trevor,” she lamented, practically sobbing, gripping his hand even tighter between her own. “I don't know how much longer I can stand this.”

“You can, Sypha.” Trevor reached his other arm out to her and she brought both his hands to touch her brow, pressing her face between two bars in order to accomplish it.

“He's suffering so horribly,” she said, her breath coming in short bursts as she worked through the rush of emotion.

“I know,” Trevor told her, confident he did know exactly how she felt. “But he's strong. He'll pull through this.” He gave her hands a squeeze, and she looked up to meet his eyes. “You and I need to find a way out of this mess. We have to get out of here. We have to get _him_ out of here. The forgemaster might be a clever bastard, but he's still human. He's bound to slip up eventually. We need to keep it together enough to watch for that chance.”

Sypha said nothing and only increased the pressure of his knuckles against her face, her shoulders heaving in silent despair.

“Sypha.” Trevor tugged gently against her hands. She lowered his fingers to her lips, her misty eyes meeting his dead on. “Listen to me, alright? If there's one thing I've learned about Speakers, it's that they don't ever stop trying when it comes to helping people.” Sypha dropped her hands into her lap at these words, breaking their tactile connection, but he could see her tears were already receding somewhat. “You don't give up,” he continued, swallowing past the thick lump in his throat. “And neither do the Belmonts. I'm not going to give up on the two of you,” he promised, “so you're not allowed to either.”

For a few seconds Sypha didn't react. But then her face erupted in the most brilliant watery smile, and she reached for his hands again.

“Trevor Belmont, I don't know what I would do without you.”

“Well, you wouldn't be nearly as pissed off so much of the time, for one.”

“That's true,” Sypha agreed, and for a short while they held hands and chuckled quietly together, careful not to disturb their sleeping friend.

\---

They roused Alucard at half past eleven, giving him just under an hour of rest. He awoke much more placidly this time, simply glancing at the clock and sighing in resigned acceptance of his fate.

To pass the time, Sypha launched into a classic story from her vast retained collection of Speaker lore. This one revolved around some otherwise unsung hero from centuries past who thwarted the corruption of a tyrannical king and won the affection of his true love. Trevor blocked out the tedious details and just listened to the pacifying notes of Sypha's voice as she wove the tale.

When Isaac returned at noon, straight away Trevor knew something was amiss. The forgemaster arrived shirtless, his regular tunic notably absent, clad only in black trousers and long boots. His exposed skin was coated in a thick layer of sweat, shimmering as he moved through the meager light of the torches. He was panting ever so slightly, and he went straight for the crate without uttering a single word.

Trevor noticed when Isaac placed an item on the lid, trading it out for the whip as he strode briskly around the iron frame to stand behind Alucard. On closer examination, Trevor realized the object was a dark blue cushion, ornate and average in size, but thick like a quality bed pillow.

He didn't have any time to wonder about its intended purpose, because Isaac had commenced the flogging with an unprecedented zeal. The lashes he dispensed were ferocious but disorganized, and occasionally the whip would inadvertently strike one of the iron bars on its way to his victim's skin.

Alucard gasped and writhed and clenched his hands into fists, his eyes blown wide, unprepared for the intensity of this assault. Trevor heard him curse under his breath a few times as he rode out the pain. Isaac was a flurry of motion behind him, and twenty-six lashes took hardly any time at all at the rate he was going. By the end, the forgemaster was emitting a harsh, hateful exclamation of rage and exertion with each strike.

Even Sypha was too shocked to turn away.

Isaac rushed to exchange the whip for the dagger, catching it up in an overhand grip, which he had never done before. Seeing this raised Trevor's fear ever higher, the forgemaster's new unhinged persona flooring him with its unfettered violence as the blade was forcefully thrust into sinew and muscle.

Alucard choked out a startled, aborted scream and Isaac dug in deep, callously slicing back through his flesh to complete the hatch mark. The dhampir shook and whimpered quietly for a moment, but the forgemaster had already moved on. Carelessly dropping the dagger in a noisy clatter atop the crate, he tucked the cushion under one arm and returned to the frame. He seemed to be calming somewhat, his movements slower and more composed, as if whatever he had planned now had been the reason behind his impatience this whole time.

Alucard only barely recovered fast enough to notice what Isaac had retrieved, but he caught sight of it before the forgemaster stepped out of view.

“What's that for?” he asked cautiously, his voice heavy with trepidation.

All three prisoners froze, surprise and unease passing between them, as Isaac bent down and in one limber motion, _climbed inside_ the frame to kneel directly behind Alucard. He straddled his prisoner’s legs with his own, shuffling even closer until they were nearly flush, back to chest. Alucard craned his head left and right in his futile attempts to keep an eye on him, fists opening and closing more rapidly than ever.

Trevor heard a dull roaring in his ears. Beads of sweat rose all over him. His heart came all the way up his throat and tried to crawl out his mouth. What the fuck was going on here? He could hardly cope with this sense of helplessness, the awful terror of not knowing.

“Your redemption,” was Isaac's only answer before he locked his arms like vises around Alucard's head, preventing any movement with the cushion held fast over the dhampir’s face, impeding his nose and mouth, smothering him.

The torrent in Trevor's ears rose in pitch and volume. He was hauling vigorously against the cell door with both hands before he even realized he had moved. A guttural, frustrated sound spilled out of him as these efforts got him nowhere.

“You see, Alucard,” the forgemaster seethed, his words slow and deliberate, his lips a mere pin’s breadth from his captive’s ear as he continued to deprive him of air. “It has come to my attention that you are adapting far too easily to your rehabilitation.” He tightened his hold, the lines of his muscles gaining definition, one bent arm keeping leverage around the cushion. “I should have expected as much. You are Lord Dracula's son, after all. You have inherited his strength of will. But I am sad to see it so tragically misdirected.”

After his first start of surprise, Alucard had forced himself still, but now, about thirty seconds in, he started to twitch and then thrash, making a few ineffective attempts to pull free and catch a breath. The forgemaster held tighter, brow furrowing and jaw tensing as he used his full strength to keep his prisoner in place.

Again, Alucard made himself settle down, his body becoming immobile except for his hands, which were now practically spasming with unrestrained panic.

Isaac continued to taunt him heartlessly. “As you know, a dhampir needs to breathe, but I have always wondered how long one could go without air. Longer than a human, certainly. I would estimate no more than fifteen minutes to cause death, and likely five or fewer before you lose consciousness. Shall we find out?”

Trevor was losing his Goddamned mind. Five. Fucking. Minutes. He felt like he was the one suffocating, his chest and throat collapsing, and now he was throwing his whole body against the door, his skull and arms and torso bashing into hard steel, and it hurt, but it hurt so fucking good, blood starting to drip into his eyes, and Sypha was tearfully begging him to stop but he didn't care.

Trevor's vision had tunneled down to just the forgemaster and Alucard, who was now struggling once more, Isaac’s words having sent him back into a panic. His knees skittered frantically across the dungeon floor below, his arms and legs wrenching against the stocks again and again as he started running low on reserve air and subsequently on his self-control.

Finally, after what felt to Trevor like years, Alucard began to weaken, the signs of his resistance growing feeble and infrequent, and Isaac suddenly released his grip. He brought the cushion with him as he returned his arms to his sides.

When Alucard heaved in a lungful of air, and then another, and another, Trevor felt the need to catch his own breath along with him, the noise in his head quieting somewhat.

“That was barely two minutes, Alucard,” Isaac teased, and now he was back to the forgemaster Trevor remembered, serene and superior and perfectly in control.

“Fucking sadist,” Alucard gasped, still trying desperately to replenish his air.

“Not as such,” Isaac replied conversationally, snorting in amusement as he easily avoided his prisoner’s attempt to break his nose with a backward headbutt. “Though I will not deny your submission and humility bring me a certain amount of… satisfaction.”

Any reply was abruptly cut short as Isaac resumed his sick torture, clamping the cushion over Alucard’s face and holding his head steady. “I do this so you understand what I mean when I say your cleansing will now involve a greater variety of methods.”

This time Alucard had started struggling immediately and didn't stop. Trevor wouldn't even know he was charging the bars again if it weren't for Sypha reaching into his cage, clearly intent on ceasing his mindless self-destruction. The rush of blood to his head dulled all his other senses, and he didn't even feel any pain at this point.

“Some of your daily purgings will include an extra disciplinary practice. The frequency and manner will be at my discretion. This will keep you… on your toes, so to speak.” The forgemaster kept on talking, determined to finish his macabre sermon. “This particular exercise serves two purposes. Your vulnerability will teach you to trust me, to open your mind and your thoughts to my perusal. It is not enough to simply possess your body.”

Alucard’s legs scrambled to find enough purchase to throw Isaac off of him, but he was thoroughly trapped, his access to precious air at the sole mercy of the man hell-bent on breaking him. How this was supposed to build trust, Trevor couldn't imagine, but he was a little too busy trying to rip the cell bars right out of their perfectly forged motherfucking welds to think it over.

“The second purpose is the same as the new regimen as a whole. You are not to anticipate the extent of your suffering. You are not to grow accustomed to it.” Alucard’s wild flailing against the stocks had begun to subside again.

“You know you have no choice but to submit to me eventually, Alucard. You will learn to rely on me exclusively. You will depend on me in order to eat, to breathe, to live. To have relief from the agony. The sooner you accept this role, the sooner you will be granted your freedom,” and with this, Isaac relented.

Alucard sounded like a drowned man resuscitated, and Trevor could see that finally one or two tears had escaped, absorbed by the cushion, but evident in the way his eyes were reddened, the heavy sniffling, the rapid blinking.

“No more,” Alucard declared, his head shaking back and forth with vehemence, his body limp and depleted. “I can't _fucking_ breathe.”

“Yes,” Isaac agreed. “I believe I have made my point quite clear.” He was out of the iron frame before any of them could process that it was all over. “You made it closer to three minutes this time,” he remarked, his tone light and ponderous. “I will see you at three o'clock,” he told Alucard, and then he was closing the chamber door behind him, the sound of his leisurely-paced footsteps receding into the distance.

He had left the cushion on the crate next to the whip and dagger, an obvious reminder that he would be using it again in the future.

For the second time in two days, the quiet in the room was deafening, this time broken only by the dreadful sounds of Alucard's wheezing.

Trevor's knees hit the floor, his head spinning, the nausea returning with crippling severity, subduing him almost entirely now that the immediate threat was gone. He pressed the tender skin of his bruised, split-open face against the refreshing coolness of the iron floor, his blood slippery on contact and then a little sticky as it started to dry, his heart contracting painfully, laboriously in his chest.

“Are you-” Sypha started before Trevor cut her off.

“Do _not_ ,” he panted, “ask if anyone is okay.”

\---

“I don't really hate you, you know,” Trevor said, and that was how it started. This was the first of many revealing statements offered up to the sacrificial altar of the unresolved tension between them.

Alucard actually laughed, a single loud bark, a bright, clear exclamation of surprise, and the sound made Trevor's heart feel a thousand times lighter for just that one moment. “I don't really hate you either,” the dhampir replied, his face relaxed in an easy smile, humor sparkling behind his eyes.

Trevor knelt, leaning pathetically against the front of the cell, icing his swollen face on the incredible, heavenly, mercifully cold steel bars. “In the beginning, I didn't like you,” he told Alucard. “I didn't trust you, and I didn't want to trust you… but I… I’ve said some things I didn't truly mean.” It was hard for Trevor to talk about this, but they needed it behind them if they were really going to hash everything out. And Trevor could just tell that's where this was going.

They were long past due for an airing of thoughts and grievances, and he knew how obnoxiously giddy Sypha would be, had she been awake to hear it. It was just past two in the afternoon, and she'd been sleeping since before one, the emotional upheaval having thoroughly sapped her energy once again. It had been a tough sell, and she only agreed after many assurances from Alucard. She’d curled up in the corner closest to Trevor's cell and had been out within seconds.

Alucard's expression sobered, and now he was studying Trevor intently. “I regret how our first meeting played out,” he offered, his hands going through a new set of repetitive motions. He rubbed his thumbs back and forth over his other fingers, but it was a contemplative sort of habitual movement, unlike the fearful tic Trevor had observed so many times now. “We definitely started out on the wrong foot, and it was… partially my fault.” It helped to see that Alucard was having some difficulty with this discussion as well. At least Trevor was in good company.

“And I did very little to make that situation any better,” Trevor admitted, feeling unusually candid, but also reveling in the weight that lifted off him with each new formerly-repressed declaration.

“Ever since the three of us joined forces, I've wanted to apologize for the bad blood I allowed to take root on day one. I am sorry, Belmont.”

Trevor looked up at Alucard through bruised eyelids, surprised he had upped the stakes already with such an admission. It left him feeling unaccountably sheepish, even though Alucard had been the one to open himself up with the apology.

“That's not… I mean… God, _fuck_ this is hard.” Alucard snickered at him as he rolled his aching head over the surface of the bars. “I'm sorry, too,” he half mumbled, half sighed, feeling embarrassed and uncomfortable, and he couldn't meet Alucard's eyes.

The dhampir’s quiet laughter tapered off, and finally Trevor looked up again to make eye contact with him. As if on cue, Alucard took his turn. “I know how rarely you apologize to anyone, ever, and I want you to know it doesn't go unappreciated.” He was fixing Trevor with a contented look, one that showed unmistakable notes of fondness, and Trevor felt an irrepressible, stifling heat rise to his face. He was lucky his bruises probably obscured most of the blush spreading over his skin.

It was now impossible to deny what they were doing here. This was an unequivocal exchange of confessions, one for one, tip for tat, though they had apparently come to a wordless agreement not to acknowledge it. For Trevor, it was the easiest way to save face while still being able to tell Alucard how he felt, and maybe even use his words to offer some comfort, as unbelievable as that seemed. It was a sequence of balanced trades, it was equal, it was _fair_ , and it involved no follow up questions, and no demands. This, Trevor could wrap his head around. It was a wonderful breath of fresh air in the context of the mortal danger they still faced.

“Isaac was wrong,” Trevor said, only realizing after the fact that this was the first time he'd spoken the forgemaster's name aloud, but he powered on ahead. “You are human.” Alucard simply raised his eyebrows, blinking at him with exaggerated incredulity. “I don't care what he says,” Trevor continued, “Sypha’s right.” He closed his eyes, his battered face pulsing heavily in time with his heart. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry and his tongue stuck painfully in his throat. “You're just as human as I am. It doesn't matter who your father is. Or _what_ he is. Fuck. Jesus, you know what I mean.”

Trevor had never been great with words.

Alucard made a soft, thoughtful noise and was silent for a moment before pointedly clearing his throat. “Yes. Sypha was right. You really are bad at these encouraging talks.”

“Harsh,” Trevor complained, his lower lip jutting out the tiniest bit. “I'm spilling my bleeding heart out over here, the least you could do is refrain from mocking me.”

“Hmm. Well in all seriousness, you look like absolute shit.”

“Christ. Again, harsh.”

“Yes, but this time I actually mean it.”

And I suppose that's fair, Trevor thought.

Which meant it was his turn again. “Well you look… better…” Trevor floundered for a second. “...than you did before…” It was surely the least substantive of their offerings so far, but Alucard accepted it anyway.

“My wound healing has not yet slowed.”

“That's good,” Trevor responded without thinking, and Alucard tilted his head to one side, as if asking him if this was really his attempt at a contribution. “Shit.” He wracked his scrambled brains for something else of substance, determined not to screw this up. “I used to be envious of you. For how fast you heal. It started when we first met, when your wounds disappeared after our fight-” Trevor cut himself off as he panted through another now awfully familiar wave of nausea.

“Yes, Belmont, in many ways I am not human.” A stern edge had infiltrated Alucard's voice, his words clipped with undertones of anger and hints of something darker. “I have never known another dhampir, and they are very rare in the history taught to me by my father, so my entire life has been a series of trial and error to simply figure out how my _freak_ of a body even works-”

“Hey,” Trevor interrupted him, lifting his head to find Alucard. “Don't say that.” The dhampir just glared at him, his eyes on fire. “Fuck,” he said again. His mind was not at its best. “It bothers me in ways I don't know how to explain right now to hear you say that, okay? Bloody hell,” Trevor groaned, and then he used the bars to leverage himself to his feet.

“You, on the other hand, are most definitely human, and I am still very cross with you for the stunt you tried to pull today.”

“I know.” For a few seconds neither of them spoke. “Alucard-”

“When I think of what could have happened to Sypha-”

“I'm sorry.” Trevor found himself apologizing again, and it stung him even though he knew it shouldn't. He gently bumped his forehead against the bars. “I get it, alright? I'm an idiot.” He hadn't wanted this to turn into an argument. Maybe it was inevitable, when it came to the two of them.

When he finally forced his eyes back to Alucard, the look he was directing at Trevor wasn't easy to read. He no longer seemed angry, was the only interpretation Trevor could confidently make, and it was a great relief to see that, at least. “No matter what the forgemaster does, Belmont, I must insist you never harm yourself as you did today.”

This was more of a demand than an admission, but Trevor wouldn't dream of mentioning it. He had the feeling he was on thin ice as it was.

“She said you were a person in your own right, and ever since then I've been thinking about what an arse I've been,” he said, eager to keep the exchange going. It was better than talking about his stupid mistakes.

“I felt the first hunger pang today. Brief, and only the one time, but it was there.”

Trevor wasn't quite prepared for that. He fought to breathe normally for a second or two, choked by the sudden panic, desperate for something to say. Alucard appeared to sink into himself, lowering his head and worrying his bottom lip. “I feel like I'm losing myself sometimes. It… I'm afraid of what I might do.”

For once in his life, Trevor was speechless. He should have known better, but of all the possible revelations, he had not expected this.

At his silence, it looked like Alucard came back to himself somewhat, focusing his attention back on Trevor. “It doesn't help that we have no real plan for getting out of here.”

Trevor was grateful for the chance to address something practical for a change. “I think the key to our jailbreak is what we saw in the forgemaster today. His capacity for weakness, his instability. We have to exploit it. We learn what sets him off, and we use it to our advantage.” There was pause as Trevor imagined how events might play out if they tried and failed. His eyes narrowed. “Carefully,” he added, but it didn't quite ease the fears he'd brought to mind with his own words.

“I need to know you'll do what is necessary,” Alucard said, ignoring Trevor's previous statement, staring him down, the energy between them charged and heavy with tension. “If I ever lose control.”

Trevor was suddenly in way over his head. In his typical stubborn manner, he'd resolutely avoided thinking about this, but he couldn't deny it had occurred to him once or twice since the forgemaster revealed his plans. Again, it had only been practical, but now faced with the question he was entirely thrown, knowing the answer but not wanting to deal with the reality it implied. Could he kill Alucard to prevent the unthinkable? To protect Sypha?

“Yes,” he said, his voice sounding dull and far away. “I can do what needs to be done.”

“Good.”

“But I really, _really_ don't want to.”

“I know you don't, Belmont,” Alucard sighed, tilting his head back to examine the ceiling. There was nearly a minute of silence as Trevor considered the spectrum of potential outcomes of their hapless predicament. He assumed Alucard was doing the same.

“I don't think it'll come to that.”

Alucard met his eyes again. “I don't want any empty words of consolation from you. It might help Sypha, but I would feel better knowing what you actually think.”

“Got it,” Trevor flashed Alucard a small but heartfelt grin, more than happy to have one less facade to maintain. “You'll get no platitudes from me.”

“I'm holding you to that.”

There was one more thing that was eating at Trevor, something he was unwilling to let lie as the silence descended between them again. “I won't leave you here,” he told Alucard, ensuring he didn't look away for even a split second, not now that he'd made this admission. “I promise you that. And these are not empty words. You already know Sypha feels the same, but something tells me you didn't really believe it.”

Alucard was biting his lip again, his eyes shining conspicuously, but he held Trevor's gaze. He took a few breaths through his nose, blinking away the emotional impact of the subject. Trevor gave him some time to work through it, but after a while he noticed Alucard becoming lost in thought again. There was no indication he planned to make any further statements.

“How uncomfortable are the stocks, really?” Trevor blurted out, and he immediately regretted it, not so sure he wanted to take their discussion down this path. But it was the first thing that had come to his scattered mind to keep Alucard grounded in the present.

“That's a question, not a statement,” Alucard complained, his lips pursing in annoyance, and now it was Trevor's turn to skeptically raise his eyebrows. They hadn't addressed the rules of their strange joint confessional, and it had grown too convoluted to keep track of at this point anyway.

Alucard realized his slip and rolled his eyes, his features cool and composed, but Trevor couldn't ignore how his fingers slowly curled and uncurled twice before he looked back to the cell bay. “Okay.” He shrugged as best he could with the slab over his shoulders. “It's uncomfortable like you wouldn't even believe.”

“The stocks are not meant to be comfortable, Alucard.”

They both jumped like startled cats at the sound of Isaac’s voice, Alucard somehow having missed his approach completely. The forgemaster stepped into the dungeon, half an hour early, so quiet and agile that Trevor had to kick the bars near Sypha to wake her up.

Isaac came before Alucard, not offering any explanation for his early arrival, but as usual he buried a hand in Alucard's hair and curled his fingers, holding on tight but not to the point of causing pain.

A gesture of dominance.

Trevor had come to expect it, but that didn't stop the magnitude of his anger superseding any he had ever felt before, at least not since he'd been a young child sifting through the ashen husk of his family home, tearfully searching for the human remains he ultimately never found.

Things were different now, in his head, in what Alucard meant to him. His rage and hatred were positively vibrant with a feeling of protectiveness so powerful it was intoxicating. It filled him with a sordid euphoria, his pain and his nausea fading into nothing.

It brought with it a new revelation.

If there was one thing Trevor Belmont knew with absolute certainty, it was this: No matter how long it would take, regardless of whatever else happened, he was going to personally carry out the execution of the man who dared to mistreat someone Trevor loved.

He would feel the forgemaster’s heartbeat come to a halt. Someday soon, the time would come. He was determined to do it himself, to end this wretched life with his own two hands.

Even if it fucking killed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 14k words. One setting. One day. Four characters. Three of them can't really move. Why I set myself up for this nightmare, I will never know.
> 
> I'm looking forward to writing Isaac again next. At least he has other places to be. Jaysus.
> 
> Questions or comments welcome!

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've written fiction of any kind, so apologies if I'm a little rusty. I have this fic fully planned out, and I hope to update at least once a week.
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> Edit: probably gonna be closer to once a month. I'm in too deep.


End file.
